Cleverness and Cunning
by Mademoiselle Anime Amour
Summary: Rowena Ravenclaw the most intelligent witch of her age. Salazar Slytherin the most cunning. Her life is full and rich, whereas his is bitter and deprived. When their minds and personalities clash, things are never quite the same.
1. First Magic

**A/N: ****Well, guys, welcome to the first HP story I've ever put up. XD Of course, I could have put up a HP fic earlier, but I was so daunted by how great the books are. And I'm like, "Well, how am I going to create a great fanfic?" So, I decided to be atypical and do a pairing story with Ravenclaw and Slytherin as the two leads. Odd, but it randomly came to me while I was playing HP: Chamber of Secrets the PS2 game one day. It's just weird how this stuff comes to me.**

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the series and all the royalties. Which pretty much makes her a gazillionaire and not me. XD**

* * *

**Chapter 1: First Magic**

There was a time long, long ago, when the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had yet to be properly introduced to the magic world. The four founders would not meet together for many years to come to educate eager young students. No, long before that, they had to grow up in their respective homes. Their magical skills would be honed to the point they could help others with their extraordinary gifts. But, no one had really thought of such a way except for Queen Maeve, who taught magic to Irish children years before. She was the one who came up with this brilliant concept, even before Hogwarts existed. However, the important four founders would take this revolutionary idea one step further.

One of the future founders was, of course, Rowena Ravenclaw.

She was born in the dales in what is now the central part of England to Lord and Lady Ravenclaw. As soon as she could walk and talk, she was shown the joy of reading through her mother, who would read from books every night before she fell asleep. There was a variety Rowena got acquainted with in terms of stories: daring adventure, passionate romance, and the alluring fantasy novels she loved most of all. To her, fantasy was magic combined with the adventure and the romance she liked as well. It inspired her, and she would fight the sleep threatening to close her eyes to find out what happened with the heroes' quest. Even with the prospect of hearing more the following night, she had to hear as much as possible.

With her love of books and literature established, Rowena was as young as five years old when she started retreating to the library. With her parents Lord Vincent and Lady Gwyneth sometimes away on their duties, it was the one refuge for her. A whole world had been offered to her once she had been shown the library. She could pick up a single book to read and soon be transported to a place far, far away. No one could force her to return to the real world. Wherever she went captivated her so much more. Of course, just as she usually reached a particularly exciting climax, one of the servants supervising her would call her away. This often made the young girl extremely cross, for it would mean she would be stuck with her sewing or dancing lessons again. Her mother thought in an old-fashioned mindset that all girls should become accomplished. But, Rowena only wanted to read.

Despite their lower rank than the king and queen, the Ravenclaws thought it suitable that their two daughters be given the same opportunities as more privileged girls should. Not one to settle for tradition, Rowena objected to sewing and etiquette lessons and dancing. Her older sister by three years, Lucrecia, was talented at all three. However, there was no malicious rivalry between them, not even a hint of jealousy. Lucrecia wasn't arrogant about her natural ability to pursue the hobbies of traditional women. And she understood that her little sister would become a forward thinker of her generation. It didn't take a fortune teller to see that happening in twenty or so years. As for Rowena, since she hated tradition more than anything, she preferred to focus on gaining knowledge. She may not have been a perfect seamstress or a mistress at etiquette or even a graceful dancer.

But, she did have intelligence beyond her years.

Luckily, at age seven, she could put her exceptional brainpower to good use for a different gift entirely. How she discovered this gift came about one day when she wandered the nearby village with Lucrecia along with two ladies-in-waiting who served as chaperones. As a wizard and witch, respectively, their father and mother wanted them to be aware of what they called "Muggles" or ordinary people with no magical abilities. Though Rowena still wasn't quite sure why her family was different from these Muggles, she nonetheless liked them. She theorized that perhaps their parents taught her and her sister to be tolerant of them. Magic didn't factor into anything, least of all their personalities.

Ever since their parents took them on that first visit to the village, the two girls had become smitten with the mundane yet interesting culture of non-magic people. And some were kind to them, like one elderly woman who offered sweets. To the two young girls, that had been a term of endearment. At present, they dully watched their chaperones browse the food stalls they would select from for that night's dinner.

"This bores me. What say you, Ro?" Lucrecia asked, her light blue eyes gleaming with that special something Rowena could accurately identify as an idea. She admired her older sister for being outgoing and adventurous, more so than herself. And Lucrecia, at age ten, already possessed the comeliness that would make other girls envious later on in her life. She had their mother's blond hair and the blue eyes they both shared, though Rowena's were slightly grayer.

Smiling in an innocent little girl manner that she didn't even full-heartedly mean, Rowena slyly glanced at the ladies-in-waiting. "I think we need to escape them for a while."

"True enough, sister. Let us fly."

Before they could get caught, they proceeded to flee from their chaperones and giggled madly all the while. The pressure to be proper young ladies was removed for the time being; finally, they could act their age and be free to express themselves. Though their parents gave them kindness and love, they could be a bit overbearing at times.

As they ran (carrying their recently cleaned skirts and underskirts underneath, of course), some of the villagers gave them amused yet bemused glances. Who cared what they thought? They could run wherever they wished for the moment. Unfortunately, this soon stopped being fun, as Rowena realized once she fell short of breath and sweat felt like rain against her skin. Obviously, the sweat was far less pleasant. Lucrecia stopped mere paces ahead of her, her knees nearly buckling from exhaustion.

Annoyed, the elder sister sighed out of vexation. "Why must we girls be cursed with these skirts? They do not make for good running. Boys have all the fun."

"I fear they do," Rowena agreed, smiling ruefully at their misfortune of being girls. Boys had so much freedom that it seemed neither fair nor right. Coincidentally, as soon as they established this fact, a group of boys ran up toward them.

Being the more sociable of the two, Lucrecia walked the few steps it took to get to them. She wished to make a good impression and possibly befriend the boys. The one whom Rowena assumed to be the leader stepped forward. He must have been about her age because Lucrecia outdid him in terms of height. However, she disliked the way he looked at her sister, as though he would do something impolite to her.

"I did not think the Ravenclaws liked coming down here," he told her condescendingly. "You fancy yourselves above us."

"Hmph, if that is what you believe," Lucrecia retorted. "We actually wanted to be friends."

The blond village boy raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. You shouldn't believe what you hear tell of us, you know."

At first, the boy appeared to genuinely consider Lucrecia's offer of friendship, though that glint Rowena quickly learned to detest remained in his green eyes. Then, he moved slightly forward, as slow and methodical as a predator. His friends smirked, but that was only because they didn't know what else to do.

He offered his hand to her. "My name is Devon, then. My friends are..."

But, Devon never introduced his friends to her because he had started tugging at her braid hard. Lucrecia cried out in pain and successfully swatted his offending hand away, though the other boys swooped in to participate. In the meantime, Rowena trembled angrily from witnessing the terrible joke pulled on her sister. If only Lucrecia had been more suspicious to their motivations sooner.

"She wasn't trying to trick you!" she shouted out of protest as well as for the honor of her family. "At least she doesn't pull people's hair before she knows them, unlike you."

Turning to her, Devon sneered, "Perhaps, but...Your hair looks even better to pull."

"No!" She shook her head, her hands clenching into fists before she even realized it. She had nearly reached the end of her rope with this impossibly cruel boy. She wished she was older, so she could do something about this injustice. Before the boys could tease Lucrecia or pull at her blond braid, Devon was suddenly levitated into the air. Unsure of what was happening, Rowena continued to focus on him as her temper mounted. She had no idea she was doing magic.

Her concentration had been so perfect that one of his friend's terrified yelps promptly caused her to actually see what occurred. Sure enough, Devon precariously floated in mid-air, right above a mud puddle. She gasped, shocked at this illogic. For, it was impossible for someone like Devon to stay in the air for that long. Losing her focus, she unknowingly caused him to fall into the mud puddle.

While he spat out some of the disgusting mud, Lucrecia merely sniffed and threw back her braid over her shoulder. She didn't look at all surprised at what just happened.

"That serves you right, you boar. Go play in the mud like your kind usually do. Let us go, Rowena. We need not befriend ignorant children like him."

Still numb from shock, Rowena stared blankly at Devon while his friends ran away.

How had she done that? It couldn't have been mere coincidence that she stood there, glaring at him, while he had levitated. She had done something to him that she was unable to put a proper name to. She wondered what types of books would give her the explanation she needed. Still...Was she horrible for doing this? Even though her sister seemed to think it was humorous that Devon landed in a filthy puddle, Rowena didn't find it half as comical. If anything, she felt somewhat guilty for shouting at him in the first place. Though, she told herself, he had deserved it for insulting Lucrecia. Perhaps she was right in making him fall.

"My apologies," she said as she offered a hand to help him up. "My name is Rowena, even though I suppose I shouldn't be so kind after what you did to Lucrecia. You are fortunate that I am more forgiving."

Devon stared at her suspiciously, observed his friends were gone to avoid witnessing this, and finally grabbed her hand. After all, he could hardly afford to be seen touching a girl's hand, especially a snobby one like this wealthy Ravenclaw. He noticed she didn't turn up her clean nose at him despite his assumptions.

Rowena gave him one last guilty glance before adding, "Perhaps we will be friends someday...if you don't pull my braid, that is."

"I won't," the boy muttered grudgingly, and she accepted this as the closest he would come to an apology.

She gave him an inclination of her head as a sign of respect she imitated from her mother before walking away.

Once she caught up to her sister, the elder girl's sky blue eyes positively glowed with a heartfelt eagerness. Rowena found this odd, considering how infuriated Lucrecia was earlier.

"What is it, Lucrecia?" she asked, genuinely confused.

Lucrecia smiled and excitedly clasped her younger sister's hand. "What you did back there...that was magic. It truly is magic."

"Magic?" Rowena repeated, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. "There's no such thing as magic. At least...I doubt there is. I have heard that Mother and Father have magic, supposedly. Is it true?"

Her older sister nodded. "Certainly, for I do magic myself. You got that first inkling. This is good news! We shall tell Mother and Father as soon as we get back."

When their chaperones, each of them carrying a basket of food, found the two girls who were supposed to be their charges, they immediately scolded them. Running off like that was dangerous, they said, there were as many thieves and ruffians as there were good people. Not for one instant should they have wandered off, especially without telling them first.

"But, Rowena has magic!" Lucrecia declared earnestly, hoping that they could get in less trouble if she told her mother's ladies-in-waiting the truth. Even if it was partial.

Just as she hoped, their chaperones' tone of voice considerably changed from anger to utter delight in a matter of minutes.

One of them complimented kindly, "Clever Rowena. We were all beginning to wonder if you had any magical ability at all."

It was more of a half-compliment, but Rowena took it graciously nonetheless. However, she wondered why no one had told her that magic existed sooner. After all, if all the other residents of the castle knew about it, then why hadn't she been informed? It was as if everyone but her was in on a birthday surprise, only it wouldn't be her birthday for another year yet. All this time, she thought that spells and wands and witches existed strictly in the books Lady Gwyneth often read to her. How could they be real in their world? As much as Rowena cherished the thought of discovering a new talent she had, she couldn't help but ponder all these things. Though she smiled along with Lucrecia, she realized how drastically her life had changed.

Perhaps there were negative aspects to her magic, such as lack of control. She was lucky that that Devon boy had landed in a puddle instead of seriously injured on harder ground. If her gift could turn fickle at any given moment, she would know not what to do. Thinking of something like that absolutely terrified her, numbed her body even.

Just before they entered inside their castle home of Eaglewood, Lucrecia seemed to read her thoughts. "Do not be so troubled, Ro. You will learn from our parents regarding magic and how to control it. You won't always have situations like the one today just because you feel angry or upset. It means the magic you keep inside is finally coming out. It's high time for you to be trained, I think."

"I hope you are right, Lucrecia," Rowena replied as they crossed the drawbridge. "I admit that I felt guilty about losing control, even if that Devon boy did deserve it."

Surprised that her younger sibling would be more forgiving to the peasant boy than she personally was, Lucrecia raised an eyebrow before thinking nothing more of it. Although she had to confess that Rowena was a more giving person sometimes than she was, she still couldn't believe Devon could have any good qualities as a person.

With that stupid incident furthest from her mind for certain, she dragged Rowena up the stairs to their father's private study. Both Vincent and Gwyneth were there, discussing (ironically enough) how long it seemed to take for Rowena to develop any magical abilities. Yes, she was at that perfect age, but their parents thought she would be able to display her gifts earlier on. They were merely concerned for their younger daughter's future. Once they noticed both their children standing in anticipation at the doorway, they instantly stopped their talking.

"Girls," Gwyneth addressed them brightly, more than happy to see them. "How was your excursion out to the village? Did you enjoy yourselves?"

Not wishing to give their mother a straight answer, Lucrecia told her, "Somewhat, Mother, but something happened today. Rowena did magic."

At first, Lord and Lady Ravenclaw were in disbelief, though they should have known this day would come. It meant little Rowena would soon mature into a most competent witch.

Out of pride, Vincent Ravenclaw smiled at his youngest daughter. "Did you, now? What sort of magic?"

"I, er, accidentally bewitched one of the villagers."

Instead of scolding her for this indiscretion like Rowena expected, her parents gave her smiles that seemed to nearly crack from pride. She found this rather odd of them to react this way. Personally, she could barely shake off her guilt.

"Rowena, this means we will need to enlist the services of a wandmaker. And since we do have spellbooks here, we will be able to teach you some spells! This is an exciting time for you, dear," Gwyneth tried to assure her.

"A w-wand?" Rowena was bewildered to say the least.

Her father affectionately patted her on the shoulder. "Of course. What is a witch without her wand?"

Suddenly feeling extremely strange, she excused herself before going down the corridor to her room.

As soon as she entered her private chamber, Rowena let out a sigh that surmised all of her mixed emotions. It was true that she was happy that she had the capability to do magic. She knew that her parents were a witch and wizard before, but she had no idea she could do what they did. She could potentially make them even prouder of her. And magic sounded like a fantastic gift and a blessed convenience. At the same time, she would have to separate herself from average humans, the Muggles. Instead of picturing them as accepting of her gift (as a seven-year-old might imagine), she could see them trying to threaten her with torches. This was why she must keep this a secret from the Muggles. Thankfully, Devon hadn't suspected her of being the cause of his "accident."

If he had, would he have accused her of being a witch? This was a dark time she was living in, one in which adults would take the word of a child that another child was a witch. What if she ended up being burned at the stake?

Gulping from the fear for her life, Rowena clasped her hands tightly. She may have been very young indeed, but she was already aware of the positives and negatives of possessing magic. Her intelligence did make her seem as though she was older than her actual age. As she pondered still further as she usually did, she heard a knock on the door. She gave the person permission to come inside.

Smiling warmly, Lucrecia entered, holding an evenly well-rounded stick that Rowena assumed was a wand. Reconciling herself with the fact she would become a witch, she glanced at it.

"This is my wand," Lucrecia unnecessarily explained, holding it up for display. "Holly, seven-and-a-half inches with the core of unicorn hair. Tis very light, perfect for spellcasting. Think of it, Ro."

"Of what?" she asked gently, knowing the answer.

Her older sister grinned. "You'll get your own wand, too! Not like mine, of course, but it's going to be really special. I know it."

Rowena thought this exceedingly kind of Lucrecia to share these words of sisterly encouragement with her. Magic could make them grow closer, among other things. Maybe she could happily accept becoming a witch. For, she knew her life would never be the same again.

* * *

**A/N: I decided to have Rowena have a sibling to make things more interesting, to be honest. Besides, I kinda wanted to break some stereotypes I've been seeing with Rowena/Salazar stories. And yes, there are more out there, believe it or not. XD Like, I don't want to make Rowena an only child at least. You'll have to read more to find out if Salazar is or not.**

**Anyway, I hope you like this story. I personally hope it isn't too rambling for you guys.**


	2. Pain

**A/N: ****And now, the second chapter to this. XD So, this is my theory on how Salazar Slytherin hated Muggles and there's some other stuff about him (made-up), too. Hope this is much deeper than the first chapter. I personally thought it was.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

**Edit 10/12/13: I changed Charles' (the snake's) name to Morathi because it's more snakelike and has a more symbolic meaning.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Pain**

While the young Rowena Ravenclaw received her wand, a boy two years older than her sat out in the castle gardens several leagues away from the Ravenclaws. Many flowers surrounded him as he sat on the stone bench to do his usual contemplating. Since he held a sort of command over the servants, being the young prince of his kingdom, he forbade them to interrupt him while he spent time in the gardens. He valued his privacy, preferring very much to be alone. Perhaps he had learned this from his father at a far too early age. The House of Slytherin was reputed to consist of intensely private people, so the prince decided that he liked it that way. He could hardly imagine opening up to people, talking to them as though they were old friends. He didn't have any friends, not one apart from the garden snake slithering toward him.

When Salazar Slytherin was born, his mother died shortly after giving birth to him without ever getting a chance to see her baby. It was pure tragedy that that had happened. According to what he heard the many servants whisper amongst each other, his father Ignatius mourned for days. Knowing his father (from what little he could discern anyway), Salazar found that hard to believe. As far as he was concerned, he had never met a colder, emptier man. How could love leave anyone that embittered after death? Of all the times he spoke to his father, Salazar learned to be cool and reserved during the conversation. As for how he was raised, the servants brought him up with Ignatius rarely in the picture. The excuse? His face reminded his father too strongly of his dead wife Penelope.

Basically, Salazar was allowed almost entirely free reign of what to do in and around his castle home of Greystone Castle while the king did his duties to their kingdom. The boy could honestly care less about the kingdom. He wanted a father around, but since he was much occupied with his duties, that couldn't happen. Salazar had to settle for doing everything by himself, including his education. Everything he did had been strictly self-taught. Reading, penmanship, horseback riding—virtually everything on his own. Because of his nearly constant solitude, he learned in a short period of time to never rely on anybody. When he was old enough to throw tantrums, a harsh lecture from Ignatius (just one) had done away with any further disruptions. Yes, his father controlled him, forcing him to become his perfect son.

This led to another life lesson he learned at an early age, which was to keep his emotions in check. If anything, maybe it was better to rid himself of these feelings, for they were just nuisances that bothered him. Salazar seemed far older and wiser and worldlier than his nine years suggested. He practically had to grow up early so as not to perturb his father. Though he never yelled, he held this power over him that prevented him from committing any childish indiscretions. Ignatius customarily spoke to him in a low, expressionless voice—it was almost as though he wasn't even human. It had been yet another lesson Salazar had to learn in his short life thus far. However, though he had no human friends, he preferred to share thoughtful conversations with snakes.

At six years old, while walking aimlessly about the gardens, he glanced upon a snake that started moving alongside him. At the time, he had no idea what to think about this uncanny situation. Why would a snake appear to follow him? Salazar found that the answer to that question didn't really matter in the slightest. Finally, it appeared as though someone (or, rather, something) had the desire to befriend him. Shrugging nonchalantly, he proceeded to tell the snake hello and ask how it was doing. To an outsider, this might have looked insane and coming from the ramblings of a future madman. But, that day, he was about to discover an ability that had been concealed up until that moment.

"I have been doing well," the snake replied, astonishing the boy beside him. "What of you, my liege?"

Salazar gasped, still in shock that the snake (from his understanding) spoke perfect English.

Gulping down the lump that had formed in his throat, he muttered, "Fine. So, do you go by a name?"

"Aye, I do. It is Morathi."

It was true then. Whatever he possessed could help him talk to snakes. Wondering how that was possible, the curious prince turned to books from the royal library that could possibly explain this phenomenon. After long days' worth of researching, he found his answer. He was a fluent Parselmouth, serpent-tongued.

Shortly thereafter, unusual events occurred, such as the time he imagined a book he was too lazy to retrieve on his own (for the library was so vast), only for it to materialize out of nowhere. Using the resources of the library dependently, he discovered that he was showing signs of an emerging wizard. Salazar's reaction was one of absolute joy, and what made him happier was that he came from the Slytherin line of witches and wizards, surely the greatest wizarding lineage in history. He had pure magical blood running through his veins. Once he told his father the fantastic news, he took it the way Salazar bleakly assumed he would. With slight apathy and major reluctance, Ignatius accepted the fact without any pleasure that his son displayed the beginnings of a wizard. This meant work.

The elder Slytherin demanded and not asked of his only child to improve with each passing lesson he had with him. Sadly, nothing was ever good enough to please his always particular father. He hadn't flourished the wand correctly or he hadn't spoken the spell loudly enough or his stance was pathetic. Mistake after mistake Salazar continued to make to the point that he often found his nerves getting in the way. He could barely focus at all with his father breathing constantly down his neck. Did other wizarding children come across this problem?

These brutal lessons continued well into his ninth birthday, with not a day of rest.

Presently, while Salazar calmly perched on his bench, Ignatius decided that he tired of seeing his son not performing up to par (in his eyes) in terms of these magic lessons. For the time being, he dwelt on his kingly duties and was away because of them. A normal child would have missed having their parents around. On the contrary, for Salazar, all he felt was relief that that stone wall of a man was gone...at least for the time being. In the meantime, he could merely repose here and talk to Morathi the snake, his one companion. Not too many other snakes could be found here in these gardens.

"The old man has gone off on another excursion, has he?" Morathi inquired of him.

He rolled his green-gray eyes in response. "He is not that old. And aye, he has. He would do almost anything to get away from me."

Surprisingly, Salazar remarked on this fact with barely a tone of bitterness in his voice, like he had given out some casual comment on the weather. He knew it was the truth, so he settled on accepting it. Besides, things could be worse for him. He could be abused or poor or dead. Honestly, he was willing to take what he could get, no matter how meager. As long as there was a chance to get away from this forsaken place someday, he would wait out the entire duration. Indeed, he would serve his sentence.

"I can tell that you are a failure in his eyes," Morathi hissed, his dark eyes gleaming. "You see, I can read his mind as well. Did he ever tell you he's a Parselmouth?"

Salazar only sniffed. "Hmph, why should he? He never tells me anything."

The snake stuck out his forked tongue before slithering around the bench while lightly remarking, "My poor young liege. His father doesn't even care about him."

"I've known that since the day I was born. Sometimes, I think I need to get away from this place. Father would care not one way or the other."

"True, true," Morathi agreed. "Perhaps rebelling against the king will teach him a lesson."

A cruel smirk flittered across Salazar's lips. "Perhaps it will. I would love to see the expression on his face. If I'm gone, he might—just might—miss me."

"Now that I doubt. He sometimes blames you for his wife's death in his mind, you know."

With a curt nod, Salazar acknowledged the validity of this statement, which was undoubtedly all too true. Due to the strained relationship between him and his father, he even hated his dead mother sometimes. If she hadn't died, then he would have never had to deal with this obscure childhood now in which hardly anybody cared about his well-being. What infuriated him most was that he had never gotten the chance to see her in person, only portrayed in an artist's portrait. He grudgingly supposed that Penelope had been a fairly pretty woman, with the green-gray eyes he inherited and wavy nut brown hair. But, why had she left her only son alone with _him _for the rest of his bloody early life? Salazar couldn't help but despise her for this, the foolish mistake of dying during childbirth. Or he might not have seen that as a mistake.

No matter, all he was concerned with for the present was a means to take revenge against Ignatius.

Taking some time to reflect on the conversation with his snake friend so far, he stared out at the many types of flowers that surrounded him. According to the servants' tales, his father had requested that they be planted as a wedding gift to his wife. Oh, how he had showered her with everything! Whereas, Salazar enviously thought, he could barely remember his own birthday, for he had never experienced a celebration or the receiving of gifts in his whole life. Evidently, his pathetic excuse of a father didn't feel he deserved those luxuries. He granted that the flowers appeared attractive enough in spite of what their original purpose had been. His particular favorite was the patch of foxglove furthest away from the bench. For some odd reason, he always felt a strange kinship to this type of flower, most likely because it was often used in poisons.

How fitting for him, he assumed, considering his own dark, lethal personality that drove everyone else away. That façade suited him best when nothing else did the trick.

After his thoughts subsided, Salazar mused, "I'll run away for the night. To that Muggle village nearby—I've never seen one of those before. I know it's there."

Morathi almost sounded like he clicked his tongue. "I fail to understand what you find so intriguing about these Muggles. They are far inferior to you, Salazar. I believe it will be a costly mistake on your part to venture over there."

"For one night, Morathi! Do you not listen to me?" the boy sighed irritably. "It matters not. I only want to get away from that imbecile. Just once."

Ignoring Morathi's protests at his idea, Salazar rose from his usual bench and left through the garden gate. He had no idea what he wanted to do at that village as long as he escaped the watchful eye of Ignatius. Perhaps at this village he wouldn't be judged nor be subjected to other people finding faults with him. It was deplorable enough with his father. Then again, these Muggles could be hostile, particularly since they were unruly peasants unhappy with the king's rule. Yet could they not both agree on that opinion? Even though his life thus far made him feel bitter and cynical, Salazar felt enough optimism to hope for the best. If things failed to work out, then at least he had been rewarded with the runaway experience.

Later that night, Salazar quietly exited the castle, his nine inch ebony wand with core of dragon heartstring at his side.

Preventing any passerby he might meet on his route from seeing it, he tucked the wand under his cloak. It was no secret that the commoners feared magic. They thought it could destroy rather than help. Witch and wizard paranoia seemed to have hit a feverish climax. However, Salazar was aware that he also had to watch out for thieves who would steal anything. As far as he was concerned, he was far from the naïve type of boy. But, he had to avoid his father, which implied that he would walk as far as possible away from the castle. His home had served as a desolate prison up until now, always cold and uninviting. It suited Ignatius perfectly, but perhaps it didn't suit him. Not even the darkness of the night could deter him.

The village laid a few leagues away, but Salazar nonetheless enjoyed the walk on his own. He could think and reflect without any interruptions, a solitude which he inevitably preferred over companionship. All his life he had no real friends. Quite frankly, he was resigned to the inevitable that it would continue that way. Eventually, as he silently mused, he walked toward the so-called houses that comprised the village. Salazar couldn't help but wrinkle his nose condescendingly at all these thatched roofs. Even though his castle didn't have the contented feel of a home, it at least had protective stone walls. These shacks could blow away in an instant. No matter, he had run away for a reason: to benefit from the young runaway experience.

He proceeded to explore the place, which buzzed with activity, odd at this hour. Supposing that some sort of Muggle festivity took place, he subtly followed some of the people. Though he thought he expressed a form of disdain toward common, lowly peasants, Salazar could hardly resist being intrigued by them, too. The fact that this was an entirely different culture, one that was non-magical, fascinated him. He somehow wanted to study these people, observe their daily habits and how they mingled with each other. If he could just get near to them, he would discover so many things...

A bright bonfire flickered off in the distance while the peasants danced around it, holding hands. It was a celebration, maybe one of the first of May variety. Despite his own hatred of dancing, he couldn't tear his eyes away from them. They appeared as though they were having...fun.

Fun was technically not a term Salazar was well acquainted with. On the contrary, he found himself bored on a regular basis. Conversing with Morathi didn't even give him a hint of excitement. As a prince who was often as not by himself all the time, he could honestly admit to not even being able to define fun. Seeing these villagers dance made him realize that life should be so much richer than his dull one. Longing passed through his green-gray eyes before it disappeared. To join in on some paltry celebration shouldn't have any remote appeal to him. Besides, everyone knew who the prince was, so no one would bother to share a conversation with him. With one last gaze at the bonfire and the dancing for memory's sake, he disappeared back into the shadows.

It merely turned out that running away for half a night (not a full one like he had hoped) caused Salazar to feel empty. His life was very deprived in comparison to those Muggles. They could talk and laugh and dance their lives away without worrying about anything, which made him inevitably jealous. They had friends in each other. They had ridiculous amounts of fun. They had love. Salazar sighed heavily, ignoring these desperate thoughts he had inadvertently clung to. He couldn't afford to think about those Muggles now. With reluctance (very slight reluctance), he resolved to return home. Unfortunately, something interrupted his swift walking, the sound of footsteps.

Turning slowly around, he saw four Muggle boys, all older and taller than him, purposely making a beeline toward him. Instinctively, he tucked his hand under the folds of his dark green cloak and tightened his grip on his wand. He refused to be intimidated by a pack of Muggles, especially these boys. And he doubted he could trust them.

"You look familiar," the tallest of the boys remarked almost sardonically. "Have we met before?"

His knuckles turning white, he maintained the hold on his wand. "I don't believe so."

"We're glad, because we doubt we would have anything to do with you." Another boy started circling around Salazar, very much like a vulture. The others soon followed suit. Meanwhile, he wished to take out his wand so badly that it hurt. If they ever saw him draw a wand, they would surely flee. But, they would also go around telling the other villagers that their prince was also a wizard.

The other option, clearly, was to run, but his haughty Slytherin pride anchored him to the spot. He refused to let these boys win. If he had to fight them, he was more than willing to do so.

Glaring viciously at the four of them, he half-snarled, "I do not know what your business is or what you wish to do with me, but it is entirely unreasonable. By my faith, I can assure you."

"Oooh, impressive vocabulary for one so small," the leader taunted as he yanked Salazar's short ponytail. "No wonder. You _are _the prince after all."

Salazar sensed all the color drain away from his face. "You know?"

"Of course we know, your highness" a different boy mocked before reeling back his fist...

It struck the prince near his right eye and sent him stumbling backwards.

That one feeble movement was enough to compel the group of boys to rush over toward him and send him more punches. Salazar ducked, dodged, and kicked; none of these tactics seemed to work. The odds were against him after all, four against one. It was an unfair fight, but he tried his best to combat them. He managed to land a heavy blow on one boy's face, causing him to fall backwards. Salazar kicked his feet out from under him. Unfortunately, the other three boys still beat him mercilessly in spite of this small triumph. Eventually, the fight ended with the four boys laughing victoriously and Salazar with his face in the dirt. All of a sudden, he started shivering from some strange sense of fear overcoming him.

Were Muggles really like this? Cruel and unkind to those magical people who were obviously superior to them? He cried out of the pain of his injuries as well as the injustice of this situation. Weakly lifting himself to his feet, he wiped the tears away only to find traces of blood on his knuckles. As he inspected the damage further, he noticed his cloak had suffered a few rips and tears, with his hair a tangled, disheveled mess. This venture of his had not paid off after all. He had suffered the worse for wear. Thankfully, his wand, which lay a few feet away from him, was still in one piece. Without it, he would have felt even weaker.

Salazar sighed out of relief that this terrible ordeal was over, despite the fact he would have to explain himself to his callous father later. At least this trip had taught him a lesson, he thought while walking back home.

All Muggles were repulsive, loathsome creatures and were never to be trusted.

* * *

**A/N: My belief is that Salazar got into a traumatizing situation with Muggles, and that's why he hated them until the day he died. For some reason, I like writing about the villains, because if heroes have to be made, then so do villains. And I think that if something traumatizing such as this happened to Salazar, I assume it would be why he hated Muggles for the rest of his life. That's my theory anyway.**

**Hm, don't know why I named the snake. Probably because I didn't want to refer to it as "the snake" for four or five chapters. Also, another thing, I actually don't like *Morathi*, even though I wrote him up. Weird. XD But, I thought that 1) it could prove Salazar's Parseltongue and 2) the snake would be the one to listen to all of Salazar's deepest, darkest secrets. This will come into play later on.**

**Hope you guys liked this chapter.**


	3. A Muggle Friend

**A/N: ****OK, guys, here's the next chapter. I notice that there aren't that many reviews on this, but I don't really care. I figure that crack pairings are plentiful on this fandom. Not to mention people prefer reading about the non-Middle Ages-era characters anyway.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Muggle Friend**

The year following the discovery of her own magic had been the best one of Rowena's life. She could transfigure mice into wine glasses, charm a feather to float across the room to her, and even help rearrange things in her bedchamber whenever ennui struck her. She learned to cherish her wand, a ten-inch willow with phoenix feather core, early on in her lessons. It was the tool, an ever reliable one that she could use to cast her spells. Her mother and Lucrecia taught her the charms and transfiguration spells. And when she grew older, her father promised, he would teach her defensive spells just in case. Yes, her life as a young witch fully blossomed into something she would remember fondly later in life. She always loved knowledge, the concept of learning new things, and magic had more than enough complexities to satisfy her.

Rowena also loved tackling magic-related challenges, which she considered as puzzles and riddles to solve. Lucrecia thought her somewhat odd for having this type of mindset, but she couldn't deny how gifted and talented a witch her younger sister was becoming. It made her feel almost jealous, if not for the fact she was immensely proud of Rowena's progress. The rest of the Ravenclaw family shared that sentiment. Gwyneth even went so far to proclaim that her daughter would become greater than her sister-in-law Henrietta, Rowena's aunt. Henrietta was one of the most intelligent witches in the Ravenclaw line. She had come up with some spells that had been hitherto unknown. In comparison, just like with her and reading, Rowena displayed adeptness and skill at magic beyond her years.

Yet, through her precociousness, she was still a child both literally and at heart. Sometimes, she would go outside to explore the castle grounds and craft wildflower necklaces with her sister. Other times, she pretended she was a princess from one of the fairy tale stories she read, trapped in a tall tower and more than ready to wait for her prince to save her. She may have been a lord and lady's daughter, but a princess was far wealthier than someone of her rank. Her imagination stretched beyond ordinary limits. In spite of her mind centering around intelligence and rationality, she could hardly resist daydreaming, journeying to a new world far away from her own. In her imaginary world, she could ride dragons that she tamed. But, she instead had to settle for horses.

Rowena didn't mind horses, even though they certainly weren't included in her exciting daydreams. She loved to horseback ride, something her mother recently taught her how to do in traditional side-saddle, of course. Her favorite horse, the one she most often took out of the stables, was a red roan she had named Comet due to a star pattern on her forehead. She was a mare that Rowena happened to adore, since she was always so gentle and let her give her pats on the head. The girl liked feeding her apples as well. They shared a companionship that could only be shared by an animal and its master at their best. Their bond was certainly one of a kind, more so than Lucrecia and her own mare Starlight. Together, the two sisters would ride out and share personal conversations.

One cloudless afternoon, they took out their respective mounts from the stables for such an occasion. They had found over the last couple of months it was a freeing, relaxing experience without any danger of servants overhearing. Or, worse, their parents. Over the past few days, Rowena's latest contemplation involved her last visit to the village that she took on her own. Since she first discovered her magic there, she still came down that way, whereas her older sister rarely went due to her preference of avoiding the village boys. This last time, Devon approached her to ask after her and her family, which strangely flattered her. It was most unexpected of him to so much as talk to her after that fateful incident.

What really unnerved her was that she had started talking in response to him, and before she knew it, they shared a conversation. It had been _friendly_, too. Currently, Rowena shuddered at that thought, for she saw this as a betrayal to her elder sister. The only reason she told Devon that they might befriend each other someday was to, admittedly, give him false hope. That remark was supposed to fill him with so much overwhelming guilt that he would stay away from her for good. Instead, they went ahead and spoke to each other without him attempting to pull her braid once. He hadn't even brought up the time he pulled Lucrecia's braid. Now, she felt the guilt worse than he ever could.

While Comet contently trotted across the grounds, Rowena said to her sister, "I went to the village a few days ago. And I saw that Devon boy there."

Pretending this casual remark didn't affect her, Lucrecia idly flipped back her braid as her gray mare caught up with Comet. "Of course you would. Doubtless he would go away any time soon, as much as I wish it."

This response, to say the least, did not soothe Rowena's fears at her sister's potential reaction to her news. What if she saw this situation as betrayal, too?

"I...I talked to him that day, to let bygones be bygones."

"Did he say anything about my hair?" Lucrecia asked sardonically, with a trace of bitterness. This question truly disappointed Rowena, but at least it had not contained any blame toward her.

Still, she was reluctant to respond with, "No, that wasn't mentioned. He was nice."

Lucrecia halted Starlight so quickly that the mare neighed in protest. She stroked her ears as a gesture of comfort, so that she soon calmed down. However, the rider was not so placid as she smoothed down her hair almost frantically.

"_Nice_? How could he possibly be nice? He wasn't so kind to me...not to sound overly selfish, Ro, but I simply cannot understand—"

"Perhaps not," Rowena murmured, halting Comet. "I barely do myself. He seemed rather ashamed of himself. He's different when his friends aren't about. Besides, Lucrecia, you need to forgive him. You can't possibly carry on this grudge forever."

Lucrecia sighed and seemed somewhat reluctant to bother forgiving a boy who pulled her braid while laughing about it. Then again, it had happened a year and a month ago, so perhaps it was high time to forget about it in order to move on. She was the ladylike age of eleven after all, the adult age in her eyes.

"Very well, Ro, I forgive him. Though I get the sense you wish to befriend him. True?"

Rowena urged Comet to start moving again at a slow walk. "Yes, Lucrecia. One must have friends beyond one's own sibling. Every time there is a social gathering, you seem to be successful."

"Well...yes, I do, but this is a Muggle boy we are referring to. If he finds out..."

"He won't," Rowena interrupted, realizing she had full confidence in this boy. "As far as he knows, we're the well-to-do Ravenclaws, non-magical people."

Lucrecia appeared to reflect on this statement for a few minutes while she guided Starlight along at a similar pace. "We have been well adept at keeping this magic a secret, have we not?"

Rowena nodded, smiling. "Yes, but that is only because Mother and Father know what to do. Who are we to not heed to them?"

In disbelief, her sister shook her head. "You are far too old to be eight, Ro."

"It comes with ample book reading, Lucy."

Lucrecia grinned at this term of endearment that her younger sister rarely said in order to preserve its sentimental meaning. Both considerably light-hearted, they set off toward the stables.

* * *

The following day, a bored Rowena walked the short distance from her castle home to the underlying village that never slept. Every time she came here, there was always some form of activity, whether it was the vendors selling their wares or carts passing through the main rutted road. Children constantly ran about playing games while their parents either ran errands or had conversations amongst each other. The sights in a place as quaint as this interested her no matter how many visits she paid. Some peasants recognized her, though they merely politely greeted her. It was uncommon for them and higher ranked people to interact, sadly. She couldn't help wishing that things were different in that respect.

Even though Devon had behaved so impudently to them on that first encounter, he had refused to be subservient to them as his superiors. In an uncanny way, they had started off as equals almost immediately. Looking back on that memory now, Rowena realized how much she appreciated this fearlessness, this total disregard for their rank. Perhaps that was the cause behind her granting him a second chance.

As she wandered out of the village and toward a nearby field, she saw him playing with his friends. A sinking feeling reached down to her stomach upon witnessing this, for she knew for certain what this could mean for her if she intruded.

Preparing to turn away, she was shocked to hear him shout, "Rowena, come back!"

Startled, she nearly tripped over the hem of her skirt before awkwardly walking toward the boys.

She was soon properly introduced to them, though they dispersed shortly thereafter due to their qualms about spending time with a girl. For once, Devon proved himself more mature than them by staying behind. This rather bewildered Rowena, who gazed blankly at him.

"Are you not going to join them?" she inquired, coyly looking over her shoulder at the retreating group.

He shook his head. "I'll join them later. Besides, you're interesting enough."

Out of modesty, she blushed. "Thank you. You're nice when you have the inclination to be."

"Inclination?"

Her pink blush reddened. "I tend to use large words sometimes. I love to read."

"I guess there's nothing wrong with having a smart friend like you."

Rowena could not comprehend the reality that Devon could be naturally charming when he felt like it. She wondered if he could become a prince one day. Sitting down on the inviting green carpet of grass, she started picking a few violets to fashion a necklace like she habitually did. Only this time, she changed her mind by making a slightly bigger crown. Curiously, Devon sat across from her to watch and pretended to be riveted by it. As a boy, he honestly wasn't that impressed by flowers or crowns, much less a combination of the two.

He cradled his chin in his hands. "What are you making?"

Amused that he would ask her an involved question such as that, Rowena stared at him with glowing blue-gray eyes. "A violet crown."

"Why violet?"

She laughed, disbelieving his obviously feigned interest. "Tis my favorite color."

"Oh."

The two children sat in silence for a while with her finishing up the "crown." Despite her inept sewing abilities, Rowena could create anything made of wildflowers relatively quickly. Proudly holding up her finished product, she made a grand show of bestowing the crown onto Devon's blond head.

He shook it out. "Ugh, flowers!"

She assumed he wouldn't like it before she presented it to him to begin with, so she could barely hold back a giggling fit. Devon glanced at her strangely but gently yet firmly placed her floral creation back into her hands.

To express to him the importance of being more sensitive toward girls, she stuck out her lips in an undeniably fake pout. "With any other girl, that would have hurt her feelings. You really shouldn't have reacted the way you did."

"And why not?" Devon gave her a returning pout.

"Most girls cry easily, honestly. Except Lucrecia and I. We will not, by any circumstance, let boys make us cry."

The casual remark about her older sister caused Devon to wear a more serious expression. Occupying his slightly trembling hands, he fiddled around with the flowers.

"Is she still angry?"

Rowena perked up a bemused brow. "Well, no, I couldn't imagine why she would be. You pulled her hair a year ago. We naturally forgot about that."

"She's not here, though," Devon mumbled, tossing the handful of grass away in a restless frame of mind. To console him, she patted his hand to assure him bygones were bygones.

She explained gently to him, "That's because she spends so much time with Mother sewing."

In actuality, Lucrecia had recently spent less time on embroidery and practiced defensive spells with their father more. And Rowena was adamant about not telling Devon about the Ravenclaws' deeply magical background. At least not yet, not until they were older perhaps. Even then, she couldn't help but wonder how he would react—and if he did, whether it would result in him telling the whole village or not. From her father, Rowena heard various stories of gruesome persecution that other magical people had had to undergo. These ultimately ended up giving her nightmares that made her wish she wasn't so inquisitive. For now, she would have to lie to her new friend by relating all sorts of mundane Muggle activities that they did sometimes. She doubted he would care much in the meantime.

Picking up her flower crown, she stood up to start walking alongside Devon.

As they treaded across the treeless meadow, Devon finally broke their silence by commenting, "I think I understand why Lucrecia doesn't come here more often. She's older and probably does more...things than we do."

"I suppose," Rowena sighed, frowning at nothing in particular. "It's only that in some respects, Lucy wants to grow up quickly. I don't understand why, considering the tortures women have to go through. Mother wants us to be proper ladies. I'm not so sure I want to be so proper yet."

Devon glanced at her, shocked. "But, you're smarter than I am."

"True, but that doesn't mean I want to grow up yet."

To show him her point about this statement, she melodramatically showed off the crown before placing it on his head once more. "I present thee with thy crown, King Devon. Mayest thee rule long and well. Long live the king!"

This time, he surprisingly didn't shake off the crown of violets and instead tentatively touched it out of reverence. The idea of becoming king was somewhat alluring, what with the power and the wealth that came along with that position. Yet it involved a great amount of responsibility, too. Like a skilled actor, he pretended to move in a kingly stride to get into his character.

Rowena laughed at the rather arrogant way he moved. "That is not how kings should walk in my opinion."

In a mock gesture of being immensely offended by this, Devon placed his fists on his hips to try to look intimidating. His friend only laughed harder, which reduced him to struggle with suppressing a smile.

"How should kings walk then?"

"Well, for one, they mustn't strut. No one likes their king to be arrogant, I imagine. You must smile and acknowledge everybody—or at least as many people as you can. They're your royal subjects, and they're only loyal to you as long as you're loyal to them."

Devon tapped his chin in thought. "You're right. How do thee fare, subject?"

Curtsying before him, Rowena held out her hand. "Excellently, my king."

He leaned forward to kiss her hand but abruptly recoiled once he realized it would be like actually kissing a girl.

Predicting beforehand he would react in that manner, Rowena resolved the situation by gently squeezing his hand as he squeezed hers back. She felt that this was better than a kiss on the hand. If he had truly gone through with that, she worried that she could have blushed again. She disliked having that shy aspect about her.

"Do you think I could be a real king?" Devon pulled her out of her self-induced trance.

She smiled with assurance. "Perhaps. If you marry the right person, that is."

"If I marry at all. So, is this what you like to do instead of sewing? You pretend?"

"Yes, Devon, for if I don't pretend I'm in a different world, I feel stifled."

Chuckling, he shook his head at his ignorance. "What does 'stifled' mean?"

"Kept inside, as if you're ready to burst open at any minute if you become too bored."

Devon nodded with her sympathetically. "I've felt that way before."

Somehow, even though he attempted to assure her that he had, Rowena was unable to picture him ever feeling that way. He at least got to play with the other children every day. Whenever she had the opportunity to come here (when not busy with her magic, etiquette, sewing, and dancing lessons), she could barely think of two words to say to them. She could relax around Devon more because he was so kind to her as well as entertaining to be around. As for the other children, she doubted they had the same sentiments.

"Well, it's worse for me. See, I'm forbidden to wear my hair down like the village girls. Though I would love to try...," Rowena told him as she slowly undid her plait of brown hair.

Once it was down to her shoulders in gentle waves, she tossed her hair about to experience the joys of not wearing restraining bands while she ran about the meadow. Devon followed her, laughing along. What she liked best of all was the moment she spun around and around, the skirt of her light green dress twirling gracefully as she did so.

Grinning unabashedly, she declared, "I can pretend I'm a village girl!"

Her Muggle friend smiled wryly, touching the violets of his crown subconsciously. Despite her happiness, he was bothered by something. He asked the question that persisted in his mind.

"Can a king be friends with a village girl?"

Entirely on impulse, Rowena rushed over toward him and embraced him.

"Yes, Devon, absolutely."

Like a wealthy girl could be friends with a peasant. Like a witch could be friends with a Muggle.

* * *

**A/N: ****K, initially, I wasn't going to have Devon play this big a role in the story. Heck, I thought the first chapter would be the only time he'd make an appearance. But, I realized, without him, some of the chapters would have turned out boring. So, I thought, what the heck? Even though I'm not usually one to use OCs, I think this is an all right exception. 'Sides, I wanted to show how Rowena contrasted with Salazar in the whole Muggle thing.**


	4. Potion Brewing

**A/N: ****In which Salz gets a hobby. Yay! K, I have no idea why I thought that up, considering this is a serious fic. XD OK, you guys will also get to meet his father for the first time. And you will find he is definitely not the generous, likeable type. And can this hobby of Salazar's possibly have a dark side? Read on, read on!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Potion Brewing**

At the time of his ordeal with the Muggle boys, Salazar keenly regretted his previous views on how kind and considerate they were. Having witnessed the dark side of ordinary mortals firsthand, he learned to change his mind. Kindness and consideration? Those traits looked pitiful compared to intentionally causing pain and suffering to another person. How could these filthy pieces of scum live with themselves knowing they were capable of cruelty? Oh, certainly, they could merely laugh it off, dismissing it as being part of _human nature_. Muggles be damned. There was nothing fouler on this rich earth than ignorant people like them, careless people who dared to trifle with the witches and wizards, those with the superior blood. Though he never had much of an opinion of his mother before, Salazar was thankful that she wasn't a Muggle.

After all, Muggles had given him the black eye throbbing so painfully that he thought he could feel it within his skull. Muggles tore at his cloak. Muggles tossed him about like a useless toy that entertained their sadistic desires. Most of all, Muggles had demeaned his pride, disrespected his title like the idiotic fools they were.

He hated them, even as much as the very name wizardkind called them. They should be dubbed monsters.

Of course, when he arrived back at the castle where he could possibly rest, his father stood outside the drawbridge. His cold brown eyes were raging. And Salazar knew there would be no chance of sleep at the moment, not until Ignatius finished interrogating him.

Soon, he found himself being pulled with a vice-like grip (by his still sore arm) inside, down the stone steps, and into his father's private study. The reason why it was down so deeply near underground was that the king didn't trust his servants. Therefore, he claimed an unused chamber as his study, considering everyone else would have assumed it to be upstairs.

"Sit," he addressed his son in a frigid tone while he himself took a seat behind his desk.

Salazar obeyed, sitting down on a hard wooden chair in front of the desk. He had never been in this chamber before nor even ventured down the stairs. Now, he knew the reason behind that previous hesitation. His father seemed to be rather partial to this part of the castle.

"Salazar, tell me where you were two hours tonight."

The boy sighed, though opted to examine the study for a few minutes.

For a room supposedly reserved for private matters and business affairs, it looked sparse in terms of the objects here. There were a couple of obligatory bookshelves for reference, the furniture consisted only of the chair he sat on and the desk, and there was a green and silver silk tapestry that depicted the Slytherin family crest. Fittingly enough, it was a serpent entwined around a shield with an Old English "S."

Clearing his throat, Salazar decided not to stall any further. "I was over at that Muggle settlement nearest here. I had wanted to run away."

"The Mudbloods? You wanted to see the settlement of the Mudbloods? Son, I thought you were far better than that."

Mudbloods...He had only heard that term once when his father told him that that was what their servants were. He gathered that it was a derogatory name for the Muggles, but it seemed suitable. Perhaps he could learn to embrace the very word.

"I did it out of spite," Salazar replied evenly, his hands tightening on the chair arms. "Do not fret, Father, I saw those Muggles for who they really were. They're freaks."

Ignatius' lips curled back to reveal a satisfied sneer. "Ah, so you must have never seen their true nature until tonight. I'm glad you think that way, that you have so altered your opinion."

"Thank you," his son responded flatly, almost tonelessly.

For some reason, a small part of him cringed that he had called his non-magical brethren freaks. But, he knew indisputably, they could never be brethren. If they as a whole were less merciful than what he had experienced at the hands of a mere few of them, they would have persecuted him. They would have threatened him with their symbolic crosses as well as attempt to burn him at the stake. If circumstances had been slightly different, he would have gotten on fairly well with them. Since they could not accept him for who he was, he refused to accept them for who they were. An eye for an eye, he believed.

The demented smirk on Ignatius' face faded. "However, you defied me by venturing outside the castle. This, you understand, will not go unpunished."

"Yes, Father," Salazar mumbled submissively, inclining his head respectfully.

With that sign of obedience shown, the severity lessened in Ignatius' fathomlessly cold brown eyes. He idly stroked his black beard in contemplation. He thought over the things his son mentioned and remembered a time in which he too was naïve to the repulsive mannerisms of Muggles.

His reflections did not last long before he said, "I am glad that you were fortunate enough to be aware of their pathetic lifestyle early. Do you now see what I've told you, son? They are Mudbloods, traitors to what they should have worshipped. This is why we've been entrusted with this magic, Salazar. We keep them in line. We show them who their rightful superiors are. I dismiss you to your chambers."

As much as Salazar sensed that this type of teaching was vulgar and bigoted, he could not help but listen to his father. He was the one family member he still had around.

However, it wasn't as though he despised him less by any means. A rude awakening happened the next day in which a far inferior servant informed him that he was to be kept locked up here for the next two weeks. He was not allowed to slip out of his bedchamber at any point during this punishment. Nor would he be permitted to go to his favorite retreat in the gardens out back. Angered at his father, Salazar was almost thankful that he couldn't escape his room, or he would have been too tempted to yell at him. Ignatius would always scold, lecture, and look down upon him in varying degrees.

At this point, he knew this trap he was in was not just literal.

* * *

Over the next year or so, Salazar ensured to reduce the times he would speak with his father. At the lonely excuse for a dinner table in the dining hall, he would make a point to avoid looking at him. From now on, he would be alone for certain without any distracting companions. He wouldn't even talk to Morathi, but the snake appeared to have temporarily vacated his side. He hadn't seen him around. Then again, that could have been because he did not spend as much time in the gardens as he had. One afternoon, with the sky threatening rain later on, Salazar wandered out to his place of solace yet again. Considering he hadn't visited there in quite some time, he had become more bored than usual. For lack of anything else, at least he could see the bright colors of the flowers and smell their perfume. He sat on the stone bench for a few minutes, when a particular snake slithered toward him.

Knowing this scenario all too well, the prince dully stared at Morathi, his so-called friend who had been absent as of late, and asked, "What brings you here after all this time?"

The snake seemed to be affronted by this defensive question. "No need to be so offended my liege. I am permitted to turn my interests elsewhere, am I not?"

"I suppose," Salazar sighed temperamentally. "And I haven't been out here in the past year much myself. I'm becoming a hypocrite like my father."

"Trouble with him still?"

The boy smiled mirthlessly. "My life would be most strange indeed if it was any other way."

Morathi, meantime, took his rightful place at his "liege's" feet. "What had it been last time?"

Bringing back that fresh memory from the year before did much to wound Salazar's pride again just at the mere thought. But, this snake was his one confidant on the planet, so he summarized what occurred the night he had run away.

"I should have listened to you, of course. I should have known those Mudbloods would be disrespectful filth. You were right. I'm vastly superior to them."

Flicking his tongue in and out, the snake appeared to be thoroughly amused. "So, your mind has changed, has it not? You even refer to them as something derogatory, something disgusting."

"That is what I imply, yes. And that is what they are, too. Do not correct me on the subject."

Smoothly moving on the ground, Morathi proceeded to slither back and forth, much like a human would do while pacing. "Who said I was? My liege knows everything. However, I meant you were better than the Muggles for obvious reasons. This is an extreme viewpoint that you are letting me be privy to."

"Well, Father said they were no good. And after what I experienced, I heartily agree with him. Yet, I still refuse to speak with him. After my escape, I suffered a two-week punishment in which I wasn't to leave my chamber. The servants would send me my food in person. I wouldn't even look twice at them. Who knows what they can do?"

"You fear them," Morathi stated in a low hiss, his voice practically dripping with condescension.

Salazar promptly stood up to glare at him. "I do not! I shall certainly not either!"

Morathi nodded in acknowledgement and slithered around his human friend's feet. "No need to throw a princely tantrum, Salazar. I merely suspected you could fear them. So, what of your father?"

"The only time he praised me was that one instance in which I insulted the entire Muggle race. He seemed pleased with that. And he considered me to be his real son at that time, which was what he subsequently told me."

Morathi's eyes gleamed sharply. "You hate Muggles because your father would be proud?"

"No. I hate them because they're heartless, virtually soulless. They're _worse _than my father. Yet, I admit, he does have pure blood. But so do I."

The snake clicked his tongue at him again. "You fail to make up your mind on any one point at present. Might I suggest a hobby?"

Puzzled at the sudden change in topic, Salazar gazed at him confusedly as his eyes clouded. "A hobby? Such as something to use my magical talents on?"

"Precisely. Might I suggest potion making?"

The prince snorted out of laughter. "That is best for the old hags, Morathi."

"I will grant you that. However, you possess much talent for knowing the uses of these plants. This came about from much research, I presume. You can take potions to a new level."

Inspired by these words of encouragement, Salazar took a while to simply look around his floral surroundings. Morathi was, as usual, correct. So many plants, so many possibilities in terms of potion ingredients. Ever since he found a book in the library about potions and how to brew them, he was drawn to the idea of trying to make them himself. Perhaps that was also why he liked the gardens so much as well. He could use the roots, petals, and maybe the leaves. Typically, potions had roots as ingredients or something else grounded up. If he had practically memorized the uses of these plants, he could do very well at potion brewing. He could excel at it and perhaps invent some of his own.

After some brief consideration, Salazar decided he would pursue experimenting with the plants around him. He wasn't sure what his mother would have thought about him doing this, but he hoped she would have been proud of him. If she wouldn't have, then he didn't care.

After resolving on what to do, on what his life's work from then on would be, he glanced at Morathi, who asked him, "Well? What think you of my idea?"

"Brilliant," he said with more sincerity than he had ever injected into his voice before.

In order to start the process of his crafting of future potions, he had to search for the perfect place to conduct his new hobby. As much as he wished he could occupy one of the chambers down near the dungeons, he refused to mess around with his ingredients with his father close by. He knew Ignatius too well to risk it down there, considering he watched him the few times he was in the castle. He could easily be spied upon and be told to no longer brew potions at that particular location. For, his father stereotyped potion making as something left to old, demented hags who had no magical worth left.

His bedchamber was also out of the question, simply due to it being the most obvious in terms of privacy seeking. If he wanted to be alone, he usually retreated to the gardens or his room. Unfortunately, it was no secret where he concealed himself. Even those stupid Muggle servants could find him without thinking too hard. Wasting whole hours looking for the perfect spot, he discovered an empty chamber in a corridor at nearly the top of the castle. Next, he needed to find a cauldron, which was fairly easy enough. Coming from a magical family had many advantages, including cauldrons seemingly at every corner. To think, the servants thought they were decorative.

As for other more magical ingredients such as billywig stings and bezoars, he stumbled upon a startlingly excellent supply in the cupboard that happened to be in the chamber. Surely, his father must have once expressed an interest in potions. Or perhaps it was his dead mother who practiced in secret. Salazar didn't know, for he once asked about his mother to Ignatius, only to receive disastrous results.

His father's eyes had burned with that cold anger he would come to recognize as one of two emotions he expressed. And he was scolded for all his trouble, forced to silence regarding this most forbidden topic. It was taboo to speak of Penelope, to remotely think about her, apparently. Admittedly, Salazar had been surprised to see that portrait of her uncovered. If not for that picture in that one particular corridor, he would never have known what she looked like. Would she have given him her love if she had stayed alive? He mulled over this riddle pensively.

Later on in that year, Salazar had become a natural at brewing potions, taking care to follow the instructions of each potion in a book he kept close at hand. Nearly every single time he made a potion, he succeeded in getting the exact color, smell, and taste. His wand must have been created for this sole purpose, for he could hardly believe this resulted out of pure talent. Each one he bottled and stored in the elegantly carved cupboard was one more success he could add to his collection. He loved what he did more than anything in the world.

Ill-fatedly, his father eventually caught him at this work and, as he was often wont to do toward his own son, punished him for a week. Salazar knew what to do in the meantime.

"I'm going to kill him," he whispered harshly to Morathi.

The snake appeared very much intrigued by Salazar's vow to take vengeance on Ignatius in order to satisfy his personal vendetta. Ten years of torment had been ten years too many. Feeling cold and devoid of any kind of love, he would rid himself of the one person he saw as the definition of evil all these years. This was retribution for what that so-called father had done.

"Just because he didn't let you carry on with your potion making. Yet you still do it. Clearly, killing the king would be a bit rash. People will talk."

Salazar clenched his fists. "I do not care whether they will or not. I want him gone! Do you not see? _He _will always try to undermine what I do. It's been that way for years."

Morathi did his usual clicking of his forked tongue and slithered about the stone bench. "Potion making means this much to you?"

Glancing down at him, Salazar sensed an odd stinging of his eyes. "More than anything, Morathi. My father isn't even a father but a tyrant. No wonder that even the rotten Muggles bloody despise him. I do, too! There's...there is nothing else to do."

"If you say it is so, my liege."

As soon as he finished another intensely quiet meal with his father (hopefully, the last), Salazar proceeded to pick some light purple foxglove from the gardens. With stealth, he sneaked a bottle of Ignatius' favorite red wine from the kitchens. This, technically, was not a potion, but something that could solve his problems required speed.

Salazar retreated to the chamber he had been forbidden to enter to ground up the leaves of the foxglove flowers and scatter that powder into the wine glass. He would wait a few more hours then, at least until Ignatius would retire to bed. With luck, he might sleep forever. Ten years of pain and isolation would be the only amount of time wasted. After this killing would be carried out, he could have the rest of his life to do what he pleased without an overbearing adult in his life. Peering out of the chamber, he heard footsteps the next floor down, an unmistakable sign that his father had indeed retired to bed.

At last...he could go forth with the plan.

He waited ten agonizingly long minutes, long enough for Ignatius to drift off to sleep.

Once he heard tell-tale snoring from the other side, Salazar carefully opened the door, so it would not creak a great deal. Wine glass in hand, he slowly approached his sleeping father who looked kinder unconscious than in life. No furrows of wrinkles seemed to mar his overall young looking face. Black holes for brown eyes were not seen to him, closed peacefully without iciness or rage. For a few brief moments, Salazar swore that he currently gazed upon a father. A father who supported whatever he chose to do. A father who could embrace him, to give him comfort...and love.

The hand that held the wine glass started trembling at that thought. Disgusted from these childish, inexcusable thoughts, he furiously shook his head.

But, Ignatius was none of those things, was he? He was that stone wall that Salazar kept running into, and it blocked his path. Ignatius was a heartless king who seemed to actually prefer those duties to his son. He was always far away, distant and cold, to a place his son could not reach him. The death of a wife had embittered him, turned a possibly warm heart into a shell of hatred. Why could Salazar simply not get on with it? He needed to murder his father if he had any chance at a half-decent life.

Nonetheless, the wine glass toppled from his hand to shatter on the flagstone floor. Before his father could catch him in the act, Salazar pitifully fled from the scene.

"I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it...," he whispered under his breath with a combination of both guilt and bitterness.

* * *

**A/N: Again, my theory is that Salazar wasn't purely evil, at least not in the way canon makes him out to be. Pretty dark chapter, no? Then again, poor Sal was starting to get desperate. Desperation tends to do that to people. I've been reading too much Poe. XD**

**Until next chapter, later.**


	5. The Serpent King's Ball

**A/N: God, this is a big chapter! XD I'm turning into a regular ole Stephen King what with how long this fic is. And I'm not even to chapter ten yet writing-wise. Hm, things are going to get interesting in this chapter. You'll see.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Edit Note 10/13/13: I think my editing efforts are going well so far, particularly in trying to make the dialogue slightly more realistic. Just a few tweaks here and there, really.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Serpent King's Ball**

"_Stupefy_!" Rowena shouted, her normally gentle, soft-spoken voice resounding loud and clear to ensure the spell would work at its best. Her sister Lucrecia was soon knocked off her feet and appeared to be dizzy out of her mind for a few minutes. When she hadn't stood up for a while, her worried younger sister approached her and held out a hand.

"Are you all right?"

Lucrecia grinned, refusing the offered hand. "Certainly, Ro, I couldn't possibly be better. Your progress is _astonishing_. I doubt that I was so skilled at spell-casting at your age."

Ten-year-old Rowena modestly smiled back. "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."

She often used this self-devised quote whenever anybody's intelligence was mentioned, normally hers, admittedly.

As someone who adored plays on words and rhyming, she thought it suited her. Her advanced smarts were what she took the most pride in. She felt as if she could do anything she set her mind to with wit and intelligence. Over the past two years, she had strengthened her abilities as a witch, most particularly with charms and transfiguring. She was a fair potions maker though not spectacular. And she had been terrible at defensive spell-casting at first. Her father and her sister were the ones who knocked _her _off her feet the first few lessons. It had embarrassed her how awful she was in the beginning. However, she adamantly refused to quit.

With plenty of time and strenuous effort on her part, she could soon defeat Lucrecia in their mock duels. She doubted she could best her father at his talent. Lord Vincent clearly had more experience than she had. That explained why he tended not to attack her too severely whenever she practiced with him.

All in all, Rowena was immensely proud of her progress just as much as her sister.

In response to the usage of that commonly used phrase, Lucrecia pretended to roll her eyes. "I think you let your intelligence inflate your head sometimes."

"I cannot alleviate that problem, you know that. I take pride in doing well at my spells."

"Yes, but I would appreciate it if you did not boast."

Rowena giggled good-naturedly, shaking her head. "I assume you would feel that way."

While the two sisters almost engaged themselves in banter, their father strode toward them with a piece of parchment in his hand. Curious about the bit of news it could possibly contain, the girls walked over toward him in response. For some reason they could hardly discern, they both had the feeling it had nothing to do with strictly their parents. They factored into the equation as well.

Sure enough, Vincent told them, "Girls, I have been sent an invitation. It announces that King Ignatius is to hold a ball in three days' time. We are all invited."

"Really?" Lucrecia's blue eyes nearly popped out of her head.

Their father smiled dryly. "Yes, I understand that this is the first royal ball we have been formally invited to."

As for the other balls, they were technically mere celebrations thrown by people holding similar titles as the Ravenclaws. There were enough people in attendance for Lucrecia and their parents to be sociable with (Rowena had always been far too reserved and shy for these gatherings), but nothing compared to the grand scale of a royal ball. With a royal ball, the hosts customarily put on as magnificent an affair as possible. The great hall would be adorned with beautiful decorations, likely more so with a wizard like King Ignatius. And the men would look strapping in their brightly colored tunics dancing with the equally vividly dressed women. Despite her plans to avoid dancing in general along with socializing with unfamiliar people, Rowena could picture all this in her mind.

Meanwhile, her sister eagerly bounced on the balls of her feet, excited that the Ravenclaws had managed to obtain this (in her view) once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"This is the best news I have heard today! Do you not think so, Ro?" Lucrecia turned toward her younger sister.

The other girl shrugged almost indifferently. "It does sound intriguing. Our lives will be forever changed after this."

Very lightly sarcastic, she was surprised that she received an embrace for that comment.

Their father sighed. "I highly doubt this will change our lives forever, so to speak. For you see, girls, they tend to call King Ignatius 'The Serpent King.' His reputation is widely known throughout the five other kingdoms. He is not a good man from what I have been informed."

Shocked at this information, Rowena glanced down at the floor, thinking about what her father said regarding this Serpent King. If he wasn't a kind man, then wouldn't he be more private? If he was, conversely, ill-tempered and cold, he would refuse to hold something as swarming and as celebratory as a ball. Very strange indeed...

Wanting answers concerning him, she asked, "Father, how is he not good?"

"Hm, Rowena, I'm not quite sure if I should tell you girls about him. You could possibly be frightened of him. And I do not wish to scare you away from this ball."

"We will manage," Lucrecia insisted, her curiosity piquing about the king as well. "I, for one, won't be too frightened to go. Tell us!"

Vincent gazed upon the avid faces of his two daughters and realized that now he had alluded to this topic, he would have to explain what he implied.

"Very well then, I suppose telling you will not do much harm. I should recall that neither of you are little any longer. Now, as for this King Ignatius fellow, he is...usually private. My friends have told me that he behaves strangely. If they are correct, he is cold to them and has a distaste of revealing too much of himself. His wife died long ago, so I can only postulate that that is the reason he is not an open-hearted man."

"Really? Oh, how woeful," Lucrecia murmured sympathetically.

Proceeding to stroke his dark brown beard out of contemplation, Vincent replied, "Yes, it is indeed an unfortunate situation. Worse still, his son has had to suffer. Those close to me say they have never even met him. My belief is that his father is terribly strict with him. No one knows his name, for Ignatius didn't wish for it to be revealed to the kingdom. All he said was that he was the abomination that killed his queen."

Rowena gasped. "Do you say this in earnest, Father? How can he do such a thing to his own son?"

"Ah, I have reached my point. King Ignatius is not one to be compassionate to fellow wizards and witches. But, with Muggles...he absolutely detests them. He calls them by that forbidden name that none of us speak...Mudbloods."

Their father sighed yet again, as if mentioning that vulgar name took everything out of him.

The two sisters had become incredibly stunned by this bigotry of the Serpent King's. How could anyone claim that Muggles were filthy, like being one was the worst possible disease? They themselves had been taught at an early age that the term "Mudblood" was no better than the foulest obscenity.

"Yes, it is quite shocking. And the reason behind King Ignatius' strange nickname is that he is supposedly a Parselmouth, someone who speaks to snakes. I am reluctant to tell you girls all this, but I suppose it is wise to know about your ene—your host of this ball."

However, Rowena caught what her father would have said. "Enemy? Is he that cruel?"

"Honestly, my dear...yes. And I'm fearful for his son's sake. He may turn out the same way."

Undoubtedly, Rowena felt nothing but pity for King Ignatius and his son. If what her father told them was true and that every detail to his story correlated with real events, then they were the two most broken people she had ever heard tell of. She hardly needed to meet them in person to know that much. And the fact the king was a Parselmouth disturbed her. Parseltongued people were reputed to be rather dark wizards. Throughout all of magical history, most of the few were wizards and still rarer witches. She hoped that attending the ball wouldn't induce paranoia in her by the time she entered that castle on that fateful eve. In the meantime, she would try not to let that sorrowful story occupy her mind.

Rowena did, however, speak to Devon about the Serpent King's ball the following afternoon, and he seemed rather apathetic to that prospect.

"Balls...They're what the wealthy people go to, are they not?"

She sighed, shaking her head to indicate that she disliked these parties. "Yes, but I assure you, they are far too esteemed. You sit through this long, tedious feast to eat course after course after course. Then, that is usually followed by dancing. The last one I went to was when I was eight, and I found it to be excruciatingly dull."

"Then I'm not sorry I cannot go." Devon grinned.

Rowena lightly batted at him. "Do not rub my nose in it please!"

"Very well, if it offends you that much..."

Sniffing a bit too overdramatically, she promptly sat cross-legged on the grass, looking up toward her friend. "It really doesn't offend me as much as I simply do not wish to attend."

"I thought rich people liked that sort of thing."

"Well, to say the least, I'm not an overly social person. Lucrecia, on the other hand, is completely in love with balls. She immediately converses with her peers without any trouble."

"And you?" Devon pushed back strands of blond hair.

Rowena frowned slightly. "I always stand in the shadows, neither talking nor dancing. I was never adept at either thing. Besides, I manage to be ignored if I so much as open my mouth."

Staring sympathetically at her, her friend soon sat down next to her. "Odd, I would not think that."

Perhaps for him, she thought dourly, a rare occurrence in itself considering she was generally cheerful and optimistic. But, befriending children her age had always been one of her struggles. All she could talk about were books, and no one ever bothered to listen to her when it came to that. These children were lazy and felt that possessing much in terms of wealth left them entitled to lounge while everyone else read. Quite truthfully, Rowena had given up trying what felt like ages ago. Perhaps being an intellectual did more harm than good.

Gradually changing the topic, she murmured, "I wonder if the prince will be there."

"Prince?" Devon raised a puzzled brow.

"Yes," Rowena said, her fingers intertwining with the wildflowers on the ground. "The king has a son, though from what I heard from Father, he doesn't acknowledge his existence. I wonder if the prince is any different from his father. As much as I hope for that to be true, I somehow doubt it."

Her blond friend nodded in agreement. "I would imagine he would be worse than his father."

"All the more reason for me to dread the ball," she sighed in a glum manner.

Of all persons of rank to hold a celebration, a uniting of them to dance and dine and converse, she wondered why it would be someone as reclusive as King Ignatius. Perhaps he was bored. Or perhaps his pureblood obsession was so strong that he thought he should have them in his company. The prince could only be far worse.

* * *

Lord and Lady Ravenclaw and their two daughters were transported by carriage to Greystone Castle, nicknamed Serpent Hall by the cynics from the nearby village. Set in a drab landscape, where thistle grew wherever one looked, it appeared every bit as melancholy as its name suggested. The sky threatened torrential rains once the violet-blue carriage (with the Ravenclaw family crest embossed on the doors) stopped outside the entrance. Rowena peered out of the windowless area of the door to stare up at this foreboding castle. This was exactly how she imagined it would be. Truthfully, this was one of the rare times in which she wished reality hadn't perfectly coincided with fantasy. She pondered over whether she would remotely tolerate this ball at all. At least at the previous balls, the scenery as well as the hosts/hostesses had looked considerably more cheerful.

As for Lucrecia, she immediately seemed to view this optimistically as she quickly hopped out of the carriage once their driver opened the door. Her blue eyes positively glowed with delight, awestruck at the imposing structure before her. She smoothed down the skirt of her nicest ocean blue dress, and then she clasped her hands to control her excitement.

"Does not this place look beautiful, Ro?" she asked of her sister, who less than enthusiastically joined her outside.

"Perhaps beautiful in a dreary sort of way," she murmured skeptically.

She was dressed in a violet gown along with wearing fairly nice jewelry that included a sapphire broach and a couple of emerald rings. Gwyneth insisted that she wear them, since they were also family heirlooms passed down from generation to generation.

Lucrecia flipped back her blond hair. "Oh, come now, it doesn't look so awful."

"It appears as though it's a castle of the princess who the dragon is guarding."

"Pessimistic, are we not? No matter, let us go inside and enjoy the merriment!"

Practically dancing ahead up the dirt pathway, Rowena's older sister twirled every so often and slightly lifted up her skirts. In the meantime, Rowena followed her with their parents on either side of her. A feast would await them as soon as they entered the castle itself, she assumed, considering they were the last guests to arrive. Eating was the best part.

A servant led the family to the great hall, where all the other guests were seated and waiting. Rowena let her eyes drift over them, taking in their fancy clothes and sparkling jewelry that reflected everything in here. King Ignatius sat at the head of the table, his eyes brown and frosty. He acted as though that their living some thirty leagues away and showing up somewhat tardy was the greatest insult. She could tell almost instantly that his arrogance was very off-putting. And she was utterly disgusted by it. He reminded her of an evil king she once read about who locked his daughter away in the castle tower. To think, mere minutes ago, she had referenced this particular book.

"You are late," the Serpent King told them coldly. "No matter, let us begin the feast."

It was fairly easy to assume that he was not used to welcoming outsiders into his grandiose home. Rowena speculated that he wanted to celebrate magical pureblood heritage tonight. The people who came from these centuries-old lines mattered little to him. Reluctantly, she sat beside her sister and across from their parents at the center of the table. She couldn't help but feel out-of-place among these highly sophisticated adults with hardly any children. Taking a closer look, she could only detect three. One of them was seated next to Lucrecia, and so the two of them conversed. Rowena sighed but proceeded to eat her roasted pheasant.

The feast consisted of all sorts of delicacies that she sometimes forgot the names to. She finished off her éclairs from the dessert course, when, suddenly, another boy she hadn't noticed before then caught her eye.

Dressed in a black tunic lined with silver thread, he appeared to be extremely bored, judging by the way he half-heartedly picked at his food. Occasionally, he would look up from his plate to glare at various guests around him. A frown graced his lips, and his green-gray eyes were the coldest she had ever seen in a child, much less an adult. His black hair was tied back in a short ponytail, which Rowena found rather pretty. She was partial to black hair and often wished she had it herself instead of brown. However, this boy was obviously unfriendly, a trait he surely inherited from his just as immovable father.

For, at this point, she suspected him of being King Ignatius' son.

Soon after the feast concluded, all the guests retreated to the adjacent ballroom to commence dancing while the royal minstrels played. Or perhaps they were temporary, for she doubted the king would have minstrels perform constantly. Slowly getting up from her chair, she attempted to seek out the mysterious prince, but he had gone off somewhere. Shrugging, Rowena decided to join her family over at the ballroom. She would figure out this enigma of a boy later on in the night perhaps. As she made her way over there, she noticed the king actually engaging in a conversation with her parents. Lucrecia, meanwhile, danced happily away with the boy she had talked to during the feast. Shyly, Rowena stepped in between her parents as King Ignatius motioned over to someone to come and stand in front of him.

"This is my son Salazar," he said to Lord Vincent and Lady Gwyneth while the boy in front of him glared as his form of greeting. "He is to be my heir. He is also an adequate potions maker, though I once told him it was for the hags."

Rowena's father gaped. "Ignatius, frankly, this is no longer only a hag's talent. Any wizard or witch could concoct brews without selling them for silver."

The king sniffed. "My son won't turn out that way. That can be depended upon. He will have all the silver in the world."

"Is he a very talented wizard?" Gwyneth inquired.

"Of course he is. He belongs to the House of Slytherin, the greatest witches and wizards ever to be born."

Shirking from Ignatius' increasingly tighter grip on his shoulders, the young prince strode proudly off to presumably a dark corner of the room. Rowena allowed her eyes to follow him and his movements. He seemed to be infuriated over something as he shoved a younger child out of his way. Salazar...Somehow, that name suited him and his selfish pride. Yet, she thought there was something more to him, something deep inside him that wasn't as abominable as this display of him and the now crying child. He must have had a façade he utilized all his life to avoid getting hurt. Perhaps he needed a friend, as much as Rowena was indisposed to admit. She could easily picture him shoving her aside too and sending her to the floor. For the sake of the borrowed broach that her mother so treasured, she hoped not. Nonetheless, she couldn't deny that he caught her interest. And a potions maker at that! He could possibly lend her his expertise for her least favored magical subject.

Carefully stepping away from waltzing pairs of guests, she searched for the boy in the hopes she could speak with him. In her whole short life, she couldn't recall a time in which she desired to talk to someone new. Not even Devon had been that way, initially. Eventually, she found him standing in the shadows, his face illuminated by a nearby sconce. Once she studied his profile, she realized he must be at least two years older than her.

"Greetings," she murmured politely, standing on her tiptoes to talk to him.

His face looked impassive. "What are you doing here?"

"I am entitled to talk to whomever I wish, do I not?"

Salazar's lips twitched into a sneer. "You're a Ravenclaw."

His previously dull eyes gleamed with a demented form of malice that vaguely unnerved Rowena. She rather preferred him to be expressionless if this was the grotesque alternative. He would tease her and taunt her and possibly pull her long hair from the look on his face.

"So what if I am?" she retorted, ready to fend him off with words, the most helpful allies in this situation.

His smirk widened as he stepped predatorily toward her, until he was inches away, to whisper in her ear, "The Ravenclaws are shameless blood traitors. Father told me."

Blood traitor. That term wasn't nearly as harsh as Mudblood, but it was still close. Rowena shivered from this proximity as well as the utter chill in his voice.

Luckily, Salazar deliberately stepped back from her, unintentionally giving her immense relief. She should have known he would be this rotten to the core, so far removed from basic human empathy. He could say the most stinging remarks and not learn to regret them. He was aware of what to say that could infuriate or injure another person.

However, he should have also been aware that she could match wits. "Strange, how that matters not to me. If we're blood traitors, I'm proud of it. I know for certain that the Ravenclaws would never think that Muggles are lesser than us. Unlike you, correct?"

"I care not. Muggles are filth as far as I'm concerned. They're repulsive Mudbloods."

Before she could stop herself or even process what exactly she was doing, Rowena slapped the prince hard across the face. Gasping, she covered her mouth with her offending hand.

As Salazar stumbled backwards from the blow, she noticed how his cheeks changed drastically in color. His face, so sallow and pale before, had turned a light shade of pink from a mixture of rage and agitation. He glared at her mercilessly with those gleaming eyes that now glinted dangerously. Who knew what he would do to her at this moment? He could slap her in return, yet he had not made a single move. Despite her mind insisting that he deserved the slap, Rowena still regretted her untimely and somewhat ruthless action. And she still pitied him for what he must have gone through to become the boy he was, sadistic and cold-hearted at that. He could call Muggles Mudbloods without batting an eyelash. Surely, he resembled his father in every aspect...except for his eyes.

His fists clenched, he told her in a hateful whisper, "You are...You are a _wench_."

Rowena had the impulse within her to give him another slap for his attempt to intensify the feud by calling her rude names. But, she knew that would make her as underhanded as he was. She didn't care if he was a prince. She detested his behavior that made him come off as a self-absorbed snob.

"You deserved me striking you in that manner. You are spoiled and selfish and have no regard to other people's feelings. I despise people like you. Tis a wonder if you have any friends at all. This is my reward for trying to be civil to you."

Surprised that a girl's words could be so sharp, Salazar was at a loss for words.

Not dumbstruck for long, however, he proceeded to storm off without saying anything to her. She swore she had seen some emotion flickering in his eyes, but it was probably utter loathing. How could anyone be so filled with hatred? Rowena sighed, ashamed for the prince and how he acted around her.

"If only he wasn't so cruel," she murmured to herself, resuming watching the men and ladies dancing with each other. Her parents were among them, executing graceful steps that she almost envied them for. Yet, she nearly burst with pride at the sight of them. If they could truly be considered what that sour Prince Salazar called blood traitors, she felt no embarrassment.

In fact, she thought with a slight smile, being a Ravenclaw was a great deal better than being a Slytherin.

* * *

**A/N: ****Isn't it odd that the worst insult that Salazar could come up with for Rowena was "wench"? I want you guys to think about that for a bit...Of course, I was going to have them dislike each other, due to their contrasting views on magical matters like Muggleborn wizards and blood purity and all that crap. Will it ever change?**


	6. Isolation

**A/N: ****Hey, guys. Well, this chapter is more of an introspective chapter in Salazar's POV. And you may be interested to find out his innermost thoughts. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: HP does not belong to me.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Isolation**

The remainder of the ball consisted of music, dancing, and occasional snippets of gossip in which Salazar had absolutely no interest. He calmly walked about the most enormous room in the castle, a mere witness to this supposed celebration that took place. His father referred to it as a union of magical purebloods, the ones superior to the Muggles and the ones that dominated over them. However, Ignatius slyly mentioned that blood traitors, people who happened to have compassion for the Muggles, were among this elite group. In particular, the Ravenclaw family was known to visit that non-magical settlement near their castle Eaglewood. Salazar could recall his father smirking at this, as though it was the sickliest, most amusing joke ever told. Blood traitors, he said, were only welcome because of their heritage, nothing more and nothing less.

If his father was so wise and aware of people best left overlooked, why did he have this vaguely foreign sense that these teachings were wrong? Acting upon Ignatius' example, he managed to alienate other people who could have been his friends. But, there were only three types that he could classify them in: Mudbloods, blood traitors, and purebloods. As for pureblooded children of witches and wizards, they tended to avoid him at these sorts of trivial functions. Glancing toward one such boy about three years younger than him, Salazar noticed him cringe before carrying on his conversation with some blonde girl.

Just as he suspected, he thought bitterly. No one would care to offer their friendship—no, _loyalties_—to him.

As much as he preferred to deny it, he remembered that that Ravenclaw girl had tried to give him a chance. Once he showed her what a Slytherin was truly like, though, she spurned him like everyone else had. Somehow, he hadn't forgotten what she looked like quite yet. Brown hair and light blue eyes with a hint of gentle gray—and she was fairly pretty too...for a girl.

Salazar shook his head dismissively from even remotely wasting such thoughts on a little meddling wench like her. He called her that crude name for lack of a better one. At least he warned that her family consisted of blood traitors. However, neither name seemed to affect her all that much. She proved resilient to his taunting and sneering, retaliating with words so clever yet incredibly sharp that they might as well have been knives. Like knives, they cut him open, but not severely enough for him to metaphorically bleed.

From another boy, he wouldn't be too shocked if they had insulted him back and dealt him a swift blow. From a girl, especially one three inches shorter than him, he could barely catch his breath when she insulted him along with the painful slapping. She could summon enough strength to confront his atrocious behavior. Or was it atrocious? He merely imitated what he saw in his father and considered that to be a prime example as his one role model. What else was he to do? He couldn't love or be happy or naïve. He couldn't have the capability to show empathy for anybody. Half the time, he had no sense of direction or guidance from the surviving parent who was supposed to have raised him instead of abandoning him to the care of Muggle servants. In general, Salazar needed to be impassive, needed to put up that stone wall.

Without using his coldness as a shield, he would be completely defenseless and prey to those more than willing to attack him. For who he was, for what he was as a wizard and expert potions maker (adequate hardly covered it, though Father seemed to believe so), it mattered not. If he couldn't block people, they could excruciatingly injure him like those filthy Muggle boys down at the village he avoided for years. That was why he had to keep to himself. These dancing couples could throw all their cares away for one night before returning to their homes (their castles) and live their richly decadent lives. As for him, he would never experience that sense of weightless carelessness. His father had already damaged him to that extent.

He wondered if he could sneak on up to his bedchamber without him noticing or any of the other guests for that matter. There were a few potion recipes he wished to experiment with, especially one called Felix Felicis. If there was ever a time he needed luck, he assumed it would be around now. Perhaps if he brewed it tonight, his father would happen to leave the castle tomorrow. He would want him dead, but he realized that moment of pure loathing two years ago was passé at this point. His own permanent departure would be the next best thing, but he doubted that would happen either. Besides, knowing his current bad luck, Salazar was sure to be caught on his way to his room. To stay here and watch these light-footed people dance was not appealing to him whatsoever. No, he would much rather vomit than see happiness personified in them. However, he remained in the corner, dully observing.

He caught sight of the overly courageous girl who unabashedly told him her opinion of him minutes before. Those blue-gray eyes brightened as she talked to her parents who attentively listened to her. To have parents such as those two...It was like a dream. Salazar looked into someone else's life that seemed so idyllic and perfect in nature. The ideal family, the one he couldn't have. Slowly, he stepped toward her once she cheerfully walked away from her parents and discovered himself at a loss as to what to say to her. Should he apologize to her for his words and inconsiderate actions? Yet, he had no idea how to fabricate such an acknowledgement of guilt, which would serve as a white flag of surrender to him. Perhaps he should forget about this entirely.

Just as he resolved to set off for his bedchamber, he noticed her gazing pointedly at him.

It was more of an inquisitive stare rather than an accusatory one, but it was nonetheless uncomfortable to glimpse. She could see right through him, he swore she could. As she stepped closer to him, he sensed every muscle and every tendon freeze from the strangest sort of paralysis. It was as though somebody had cast a Full-Body Bind on him.

"How now, what are you doing?" she asked, locking his eyes with hers.

Gradually focusing on her and those brilliantly colored eyes, he replied, "I was merely wandering about. There is scarce to do at such a boring ball."

Nodding, she clasped her hands behind her back. "I can easily say I agree with you."

Salazar could hardly believe how simple it was to carry a conversation with this girl he didn't know. This girl who seemed to have a man's brain and a woman's graces...She genuinely impressed him. Acutely so, yes, but he couldn't help but realize this, sense this.

Giggling lightly, she held out her hand. "Care you to dance?"

He slipped on his mask before he could reveal too much of himself. "No, I do not. I refuse to interact with girls, especially those from blood traitor families."

With a tone of pity in her soft-spoken voice, she muttered quietly, "Tis what I suspected," before saying aloud, "I would assume you would not accept the offer. Hmph, well, I was wondering if you weren't all that prideful. I must admit you are. My name is Rowena."

After she told him her name, she flitted off once again, leaving him confused and bewildered.

The pureblooded wizards who had brought their families left first in order to put their little ones to bed after a long night of excitement with food and dancing. Eventually, the other guests departed as well, their carriages whisking them away to places he had never been to. He stared after the mysterious yet inexplicably entrancing Ravenclaw girl trailing after her family. The blonde girl he spotted from earlier appeared to be her sister, yet they didn't resemble each other in the slightest apart from the eyes. However, the older girl didn't have that hint of gray he found...interesting in the younger. But, since she was a blood traitor, he would remain aloof to her—that is, if he ever caught a glimpse of her again. He doubted he would, considering the Ravenclaws lived far, far away. It was undoubtedly for the best that he never saw her again after this ball. She would be in a seemingly different realm.

Guests dispersed until it was only he and his father standing in the ballroom, watching the last carriage set off on its route. Staring with bemused curiosity in his eyes, the king inquired of his son, "What say you in terms of tonight's celebration?"

"It was adequate," he murmured, using the elder Slytherin's most esteemed word.

"Ah, I wouldn't expect anything short of unenthusiastic from you, boy. You spoke to that Ravenclaw girl, I noticed."

"Really? I thought you had no awareness of my existence, Father."

The curiosity quickly gave way to fury. "Do not give me any of your tongue."

It sounded like the most demanding command than a request, so Salazar silenced himself. His father, he swore, was the frostiest parent who could ever raise a child.

Ignatius soon cleared his throat before speaking again. "That girl is from a blood traitor family, as I told you. The Ravenclaws have empathy for the Muggles. The girls themselves are apparently friends with the village children. I would advise to stay away from the girl if I were you. Respected members of the House of Slytherin would never align themselves with such shameless people, no matter how pure their magical blood."

"Yes, Father," Salazar submitted in his even, emotionless monotone. "I considered avoiding that girl. I spoke to her twice, and that was twice too many."

"That I agree with you on, Salazar," his father said sternly. "Stay away from her. I would strongly advise it."

This room seemed far too wide and empty for Salazar to remain here any further, so he wished his father an unenthusiastic good night before he ascended the stairs to his chamber. Weary from those colors and the food and that Ravenclaw girl (though Rowena did suit her better as a name), he practically fell down on his bed, thoroughly exhausted. Wistfully, he glanced up at the ceiling, wondering why he was stuck in this prison home of his. That ball had painfully given him a taste of what someone else's social life must have been like. Rich, full of laughter and love, and content—these were things he could never experience. As long as he lived here with his tyrannical father, he would never be free. That thought only made him more tired as his green-gray eyes were slowly blinking.

He almost drifted off to sleep before he heard a hiss that tried to get his attention. Unfortunately, he knew that his snake friend Morathi managed to squirm his way through a small crevice in the wall. Salazar wished that snakes weren't so skilled at fitting through tight spaces. Lifting himself up on his elbows, he stared at Morathi with glazed eyes. Why couldn't he have one moment of peaceful rest?

"Ah, did I interrupt your slumber, prince?" Morathi inquired of him, slithering on up to his bed. While most other people would strongly object to this, Salazar calmly gazed at him.

"Regretfully, no, you did not. If anything, you prevented me from sleeping to begin with."

Hearing that usual clicking of the forked tongue as a response, he barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Then again, he could relate to him his personal thoughts about what happened tonight. The problem with this was that he didn't want to remember it, thus the point of his desire for sleep. The sooner he could dream and leave those memories behind, the better. Perhaps Morathi would fail to mention...

"I heard tell of a ball that took place earlier this evening."

Without bothering to hide his displeasure, Salazar groaned. "Yes, that rumor you overheard from that friend of yours is true. But, I do not wish to speak of it."

Stubbornly, he attempted to hide himself with his coverlet to prove he was serious about not speaking of that wretched ball. Morathi sharply hissed at him, though, causing him to throw the blanket aside.

Salazar glared at the snake reproachfully, hissing back, "All right, all right! If it so pleases you, I will entrust you with the details. What do you wish to ask me?"

He swore he thought he heard his reptilian confidant laugh. "Ah, so impatient to sleep tonight, are we? Usually, you spend sleepless nights brewing those potions of yours. Well, allow me to get directly to the point. Why did your father even bother?"

"That seems to be on everybody's tongue tonight. He wanted to celebrate the superior beings of this world—to quote him verbatim—which are the pureblooded wealthy wizards."

Morathi's eyes clouded over in thought and in confusion. "You inform me of this in so embittered a tone. I have to admit that I'm surprised you would not enjoy this more."

That curious snake had addressed quite a valid point, he realized. Ever since that traumatizing brawl that he had humiliatingly lost three years ago, he had despised Muggles, wholly hating them with a fierce passion. Honestly, it was one of the very few things he was passionate about. He had this constant need within him to treat them like they were less than nothing. They were his subjects as well as his father's, after all, so they should be the ones serving him. And they did. That never seemed to be enough for him. For a ball with all magical pureblood guests (not a Mudblood or Squib in the bunch), he should have been satisfied with that type of crowd. Yet, he discovered tonight, that that group didn't want him either.

Was it always to be like this, with him continually searching for the people to whom he belonged? King Ignatius, ruler of this vast kingdom always and his father sometimes, refused to accept him since the day he was born. Indeed, he heard the proclaiming of his being an abomination straight from that empty, icy man. Muggles had beaten him three years ago. And that Ravenclaw girl had scoffed at him when he told her about her family. It had been a fair warning, had it not?

Lying back down on his goose feather mattress, he told Morathi, "I would be happy if it hadn't been a stupid ball. Honestly, Father is not that sort of man to welcome guests to his home with open arms. He only wanted to boast about his wealth to everybody. That man cares about himself, and it is utterly transparent. He has no regard to anyone or anything else."

Even after twelve years of this, he still did not want to live with this fact.

Morathi appeared to contemplate over his human friend's uncharacteristic raving, for Salazar was not one to complain about anything. He normally kept to himself, choosing to tell the snake his innermost thoughts occasionally. Only he knew the whole truth about himself from personality to thoughts.

Morathi then off-handedly mentioned, "Hence, you opted to avoid the children there as well?"

How could he possibly know about...? Then again, as a Parselmouth, his loyal companion could have access to some of his thoughts. Sighing slightly, he tightly closed his eyes.

"There was this strange...girl in attendance at the ball. Some Ravenclaw girl whom I have no acquaintance with. All Father said concerning them was that they're blood traitors."

"It all comes back to your Father's influence, does it not?" Morathi pointedly stared at him with the beadiest, blackest eyes that looked nearly human. "Whatever he says about people, you choose to agree with. And I thought you loathed him."

"I do," Salazar replied through gritted teeth. "If I even go near those people, though, there are the consequences. My father has never beaten me before, and I am partial to it remaining that way. No matter, I'll return to the story. Apparently, I had offended this girl when she approached me, and thus, she struck me in the face."

The sound of husky chuckling meant the snake found this amusing. Salazar did not.

He glared at Morathi but only half-heartedly and without any sincere meaning to it. Referring to this incident had been a bad idea from the start, given this reaction. He shut his eyes against the laughter, craving the silence and comfort of sleep more than ever.

"The girl has spirit, it seems to me. She's very willing to stand up to the likes of you, a cold-hearted, apathetic Slytherin such as yourself. Most of all, I'm sure she had her intelligent reasons for slapping you."

Salazar snorted. "And I would give anything in the world to know them. She said I didn't deserve to have any friends."

Morathi's head ended up on his knee. "You have me near. That should suffice, I would hope, my liege. It is almost as though she got through to you, by the by."

That wasn't true, Salazar thought rather reluctantly, it could never be true in any one person's case. No one could break down his walls, and no one could simply cast aside his façade without his permission. With a rejuvenated sense of vigorous energy, he promptly rose from his feather down mattress and stood before the window. Moonlight streamed in through each individual pane, illuminating the shadows of his face. In the dark, star-speckled sky, the moon looked perfectly full. The werewolves would be out tonight.

"Perhaps there is some truth to what she believes," he mused quietly, his eyes dead at the thought. "Perhaps I don't deserve friends. For, the truth of the matter is...I have never known how to make them."

Back when he had seen those Muggle boys, for one shining moment, he had this flicker of hope.

As much as he extremely grudged to betraying this thought now, he longed to be friends with them. At least one human confidant would have made him ideally happy—if he could even feel that emotion in that case. He pushed back a stray hair as he gazed blankly out at the pinprick stars.

Morathi had slithered up to the windowsill at this point. "It sounds as though she said that to be stubborn. She, in all actuality, doesn't know you."

Then why did it feel like she did? The way she stared into his eyes...It was as though she pierced the depths of his thoughts, heart, and soul. It was much too close for his liking.

Trying to convince himself that his one friend in the world was undoubtedly right in making his last remark, Salazar agreed, "Aye, this much is true. She will never know me. No one will. Not even you...or perhaps only you. It feels as though I am not certain of anything anymore. Nothing in this godforsaken world makes sense."

That much was accurate at the very least. Relieved to believe his own words, he continued to look at that wide expanse of scenery outside. He kept quiet for so long that he thought that he had started dreaming already, when Morathi asked one last question.

"What was that Ravenclaw girl's name, Salazar? Did you catch it?"

"Rowena," he whispered, feeling a tingling from his lips once he said it.

It was an intriguing name, one of beauty and mystery. Which was why he would push her out of his mind for as long as he could.

* * *

**A/N: ****Hm, looks as though Salazar is in denial. Could he possibly like Rowena that instantly? I guess I don't even know the answer, and I wrote this chapter. This proves that the story does get complicated, especially as its time line progresses...**

**What do I mean by this? When I update next week, you'll find out.**


	7. Bonfire

**A/N: ****I've had one of the crappiest mornings of my life. I don't want to talk about it. Sorry if this chapter is too long.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Bonfire**

Sitting in a chair near her window, Rowena gazed longingly out at the sunset, observing all its pastel colors. The first few stars glinted and winked at her, giving her this desperate urge to go outside as soon as possible. She wasn't sure, though, if she should sneak out to the Michaelmas celebration over at the village. Devon told her about this celebration the other day while she and Lucrecia had visited him. It had taken quite a bit of convincing on Rowena's part, but three years ago, she had finally managed to talk her older sister into coming along. As it turned out, Lucrecia hadn't held a grudge but had simply chosen not to come all those years.

Oh, how things changed, Rowena thought with a fond smile.

She was now sixteen, in her prime as a young woman, and yet she feared growing up. True, she would become one of the best witches of her time (as her parents often gushed), but she felt like she would still miss certain opportunities. Although she fretted that this seemed superficial, she sometimes wondered if she would ever have a beau. Lucrecia, at age nineteen, had already had two, but she resolved to wait until she would pursue her next one. Meanwhile, Rowena put in her time and efforts on developing her magic, which was far enough advanced. There was hardly anything left to do to perfect it, considering her mastery of various spells.

For one night, for one magical Michaelmas night, she wanted to live like a Muggle.

She doubted her parents would object strongly to this desire, but would they ever allow her out once it was late at night? Perhaps they wouldn't trust the Muggle villagers for the fear that they could hurt her. They permitted her to go down to the village every now and then, but they had become increasingly cautious compared to their attitude during her childhood. The unfortunate reason being was that non-magical rulers and members of the clergy believed all wizards and witches to be satanic. Some of them had already been torched or drowned to death because of this nearly pandemic paranoia. It had become quite massive. However, Rowena knew she would leave her wand here, so that no villager would be aware of her magic. If only her parents were less overprotective over her. After all, she could trust her best friend Devon with her life without the slightest worry of dying. She was too young to die, frankly.

Besides, the Muggle version of the celebration of this autumn day would prove to be a great deal more entertaining. Earlier this evening, Rowena had had to dine with her family during the traditional feast. But, that was all it consisted, merely eating and talking like it was no more than a paltry dinner. She wanted to get away, to mingle with the other Muggles and Devon, for she wasn't as shy as she used to be. If memory served, she would have sworn that that awful Salazar boy had unwittingly altered that trait of hers. She rarely thought of him since the Serpent King's ball in spite of this change. How could she when he had been so cruel to her? Though the fact she had thought of him in the past unnerved her—she maintained her assumption that there was so much more to him than his insufferable pride.

That boy had grown up without a mother to act as a sort of calming force in his life. His arrogant father, judging from that ball those years ago, had surely, undoubtedly warped his perception of people. If anything, she continued to feel nothing but pity and compassion for him. She could only speculate as to whether or not he deserved even that much from her. No matter, the hapless prince aside, tonight would serve as the most memorable night of her life. She would ensure that she would throw her few cares aside for the occasion.

Without much more internal debating on the subject, Rowena proceeded to descend the main flight of stairs to the lower story of the castle. A few minutes later, she was free of Eaglewood for the time being to enjoy being an adolescent girl.

Picking each and every pin out of her bun (her mother had wished for her to look more refined), she let the brown waves of hair cascade over her shoulders. It was as though she was a young girl again, playing pretend that she was a little Muggle child living contently in her native village. For a moment, Rowena was also tempted to rid herself of that trap otherwise known as a corset but ruled out the possibility. She would appear indecent if she dared to take it off at this point. Sighing huffily, she wished she would have thought of that brilliant idea sooner. Oh well, it would matter little whether she wore a corset underneath her light blue dress or not. She would meet Devon at one of the fields outside the village, where the bonfire would take place.

She glimpsed the incandescent sparks of flame before she saw the roaring fire itself, bright orange contrasting against the fading hues of the day. Some Muggles simply sat about it while others danced in a circle. Her eyes widening, she was in disbelief that something this incredible could be real. And it was indeed surreal, standing here and witnessing a true celebration that meant more than a feast. This was magic beyond anything she performed with her trusty willow wand, how fire could attract these people to it like they were moths. Almost beginning to daydream as she habitually did for as long as she could remember, she jumped slightly when a hand touched her shoulder. Once she discovered that it belonged to Devon, she promptly relaxed.

Upon hearing his hearty chuckle, Rowena could hardly resist the urge to smile at that rather unique sound. It was charming, compelling to hear from leagues away. Though it had been on the side of hours since she last saw him, she was pleased to be near him again. Devon was her dearest friend here, and she planned on enjoying every second with him tonight. While she wore that light colored dress that appeared very elegantly sewn, he wore a white homespun shirt and brown breeches that had a couple of patched-up places. If she had based their friendship on status, she doubted it would have ever happened. However, she was not one to judge in terms of physical looks.

Of course, in his case, not judging was in terms of his clothes not his appearance. He had grown so tall that she almost had to stand on her tiptoes to gaze into his light green eyes that always twinkled and shone. And he was undeniably handsome as well. Rowena was indeed aware of that but dismissed it at the same time. Most likely, he had selected a lucky village girl to be his. Who was she to interfere with a potential match?

"You startled me," she pretended to scold him, placing her hands on her hips. "I will firmly ensure that you do not attempt to do that again."

Giving her a roguish grin, Devon ran his hand through his hair. "Oh, milady, I apologize for trying to amuse you. It will not happen again, I promise."

"You are not a proper gentleman, my friend. I doubt I could take the word of such a man."

His act of being ashamed and guilty of startling her was fairly easy to expose from Rowena's perspective. He chuckled again in spite of himself.

"I am glad you have come," he told her warmly, behaving more seriously now. "I did not anticipate your arrival, since you are constantly wealthy and preoccupied."

"Only if preoccupied entails doing meaningless things," she replied, smiling wryly at him.

"Well, I am certain that the comforts of wealth more than compensate for boredom," Devon assured, though a small frown formed on his face.

His reaction concerned Rowena. Perhaps all the potential resentment he had held for her all these years would bubble to the surface tonight, rather inappropriately at that. A celebration turning sour had not been in her plans—she couldn't have foreseen it.

Somewhat irritated that her best friend would dare to question her loyalties to him, she chided in a more somber tone, "You needn't be so envious of me, Devon. Each and every one of us was born into various backgrounds. I never asked to be wealthy. I never asked to have to learn pointless dance maneuvers or embroidery or the ever tedious etiquette. You cannot understand."

"You're quite right, I presume," he snorted, slowly losing his temper. "I very much pity you."

"Sarcasm does nothing to improve my temper with you."

"Since when were you so selfish, Rowena?"

How did banter devolve into full-out arguing in a matter of minutes? Hurt beyond words that he had sardonically brought up her Ravenclaw wealth, she strode off without saying a word. No wonder Lucrecia had been unsure to the extent that she had declined to come with her tonight. She wasn't used to fighting with Devon. Ever since that incident that had brought them together in the first place, they had scarcely argued. On the contrary, they had gotten along swimmingly. Why had he bothered to say words that wounded her? Usually, she was the one who could use skillfully words to hurt feelings.

She thought she heard him call her name, but she kept walking as she wiped at her eyes. Her pride was damaged enough without her shedding tears over it. Was she as selfish as he accused? Her blue-gray eyes stung a great deal before a hand touched her shoulder.

Involuntarily, she shuddered at the warmth of his already familiar hand, the heat practically penetrating through the satin fabric of her dress. Sighing heavily, Rowena knew she had instantly forgiven him before he opened his mouth. As her only close friend in the world (her sister technically was excluded), she would hate to sacrifice him over a petty spat. She hardly resisted leaning into his touch and enjoying this warmth that currently spread throughout her body.

"I apologize, Ro," he murmured into her ear. "Sometimes, I can get rather carried away. And I also cannot believe that, after all these years, you haven't tired of me."

Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed the deep sincerity in his eyes. "I accept your apology, Devon. I was only...perturbed that you would mention my wealth. Money truly doesn't matter to me."

That seemed to satisfy Devon perfectly, for he grinned gratefully at her for forgiving him before leading her back to the open bonfire. Everyone was talking about a variety of topics that included their daily lives and what went on with them. Somehow, Rowena preferred this welcoming, candid atmosphere to the one back home. It wasn't as though she lived the life of that dour, sarcastic prince, but she did feel limited in terms of freedom. Here, it was abundant.

"I would never tire of you," she said to Devon once he caught up to her. "You're my friend, not a possession. If you weren't around in my life, I fail to comprehend what I'd do."

Staring at the fire longingly, he turned his head toward her. "I assume that perhaps I've misjudged you then."

Rowena nodded to acknowledge this but also reached out to touch his elbow out of a desire to show the depth of her loyalty. "Yes. And I hope that never happens again."

Something passed between them then, a moment in which everything seemed to freeze in place and that nothing existed but the two of them. Suddenly, she felt her heart pound faster and more persistently than it had ever pounded before. Heat rushed through her cheeks, which reddened and not from the fire. There was an emotion in his emerald green eyes, a pure emotion that conveyed...attraction? Rowena blushed modestly from the thought. Why would it be her, not Lucrecia? For some impulsive reason, she also longed to be as close to her childhood friend as possible—and not just on the scale of proximity either. Words that formed on the tip of her tongue evaded her. She was numb with this strange feeling.

One of Devon's other close friends Thomas interrupted this silent exchange between them. Pretending that nothing had occurred, Rowena quickly withdrew her hand.

"Greetings...Rowena, is it not? Wherefore does your sister not join us?" Thomas inquired, curious.

"Oh…She is indisposed. I suppose she wants to work on her mag—her embroidery—again."

"I venture you were about to say magic."

She was highly aware that she had just been caught; the wide-eyed expression on her face was evident. Their family secret was exposed by a mere slip of the tongue. She doubted they could forgive her for this, and sooner or later, the peasants would scheme to burn them at the stake.

She inanely stuttered, "N-No, I was not—you must have misheard. Magic is non-existent as far as anyone is concerned."

Meanwhile, she had her hands, bone white at the knuckles, behind her back. If only she had chosen to take her beloved wand with her. A simple Memory Charm would have wiped Thomas' memory clean of ever uttering what he conjectured. And she was shocked that both he and Devon were laughing at her. What exactly did she say that was so amusing?

"Excuse me, but why are you—?"

"Laughing?" Devon finished for her. "You needn't worry, Rowena. You can entrust us with your secret. Besides, Tom here is a wizard."

Muggles could be wizards? Bewildered beyond relief, she could only let out an odd squeaking sound.

Her friend elaborated for her, "Tom was around eight years old when he was given his wand. Hardly anyone else knows about it except for me. I assure you that he had to thoroughly convince me in order for me to believe him."

"Aye," Thomas agreed, continuing the story. "I knew from the puddle incident that you had done your first bit of magic on him. I proved my magic to him by dropping him into a similar mud puddle. And his unfortunate happenstance of falling _twice _is not mere coincidence."

Rowena nearly shook with a mixture of awe and excitement. To discover yet another magical person outside her family was an excellent find. Not only that, he was a Muggle of all people, too! Though, she thought to herself, it wasn't as if all Muggles were Squibs.

"Fascinating," she commented, a wide smile overtaking her face. "So I suppose I cannot hide anything from either of you."

Thomas idly crossed his arms behind his head, observing the other Muggle villagers dancing around the red-orange flames. "Nay, I suppose not. And Devon wouldn't tell anyone about my secret. He certainly won't reveal yours. For, he is a most trustworthy confidant."

"Enough of this complimenting!" Devon very slightly joked, his eyes twinkling as he soon offered his hands to Rowena. "Tis not the night of Michaelmas without dancing. Rowena, would you do me the honor?"

Curtsying overdramatically, she bestowed him with one of her demure yet mysterious smiles that she unwittingly captivated him with. "I would be honored, of course, Your Majesty."

He chuckled from that long ago memory. "I shall lead, village girl."

Without hesitation, Devon grabbed her hands and performed twirls with her at a safe enough distance from the fire. Rowena could feel many villagers' observing eyes on them, and she vaguely wondered what they were thinking. Did they watch two friends sharing an inside joke or was it more? She found herself grinning with the resolve that she would leave it up to them to decide. They could speculate all they want, but they would never drag anything out of her. At one point during their almost ridiculously fast-paced dance, Devon lifted her into the air. She allowed herself to be free around him, to laugh without making it polite around him. No restrictions caused her to be a wholly different person.

Their wild dance concluded, with the both of them panting heavily from the rush of adrenaline, they soon sat down by the fire. The flames crackled gleefully, and other villagers danced as well. It was a beautiful sight, seeing these people celebrate a day that really didn't apply to them. Yet, all the same, they made the most of it for the sake of a memorable, exhilarating time. Rowena would remember this night for years to come, of that she was certain. Meanwhile, Devon gazed at her like he had before Thomas interrupted, noticing the vivacious sparkle in her eyes and the pink flush of her cheeks from the exertion of dancing. To him, she was at her peak of beauty. Before he realized that he was being impulsive, he rested his hand atop her smooth one. Abruptly, she turned her head to look into his eyes with that precious intelligence he had always found admirable.

As for the girl herself, she felt that her breath fled from her body once she received this intimate gesture from her close friend. They had sought companionship and friendship in each other for nearly as long as she could recall. They had conversed together, played together, laughed together—how could it become better than that? The answer to this question wasn't something her clever mind could dignify with a response, as it usually did with such riddles. Instead, the answer was somewhere else, clear in a pair of alluring eyes and a slight smile.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself. Did you?" he asked softly, his voice no louder than the quiet breeze that stirred now. The hand covering hers gently squeezed. For once in her life, Rowena was seized with a terror that cut into her serene calmness.

Normally, she could be collected with her choice of words, managing to present the appropriate reply at precisely the right time. She wasn't accustomed to her reliable vernacular failing her. And yet, this was the second time tonight in which she found herself too numb to say anything. Was she experiencing love that the heroines in her beloved stories often faced? How could something like love, so strong and so fragile in its own mysterious way, possibly come to her? She doubted she had ever truly loved anyone beyond friendship or family before. No young man in the world thus far seemed to believe she existed. Here was one, though, her closest friend and confidant. A knot formed in her stomach, one of nervousness.

"Of course, Devon, I couldn't imagine anyone else I would have preferred as a dancing partner," she tried to reply as smoothly as she could, and she was truly relieved to discover that no tremors could be detected in her voice.

Closing her eyes in the hopes that her heart would beat less erratically, she sighed gratefully for her decent acting abilities. However, Rowena did not remain at peace, for that whispering breeze from before picked up to become a gust of chilly autumn wind. How idiotic she had been to neglect bringing a cloak with her. Eventually, she started shivering no matter how near she was to the fire, its heat not radiating through her like it had. This also reminded her of how much she despised autumn and its temperatures that would foretell of a frightfully cold winter ahead. Once her shivering became very noticeable to him, Devon picked up his forgotten gray cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

His fingers merely grazed her neck, yet Rowena felt this overwhelming surge of warmth that didn't come from the cloak alone. She turned ever so slightly to face him.

"Devon," she said, disbelieving of his sincerity that went beyond friendship. "I don't understand."

"What is there to understand?" he inquired as he placed his hands on her shoulders. "All there is tonight is you and I. It is as simple as it can possibly be."

That same emotion from earlier that night flashed like lightning in his green eyes, so tender and passionate that it practically gave her goosepimples up and down her spine. No one had gazed that way at her, as if the person genuinely cared about being near her. Upon the morrow, the world could come to a screeching halt, and they would not even be remotely aware of it.

Maybe Devon was right in remarking on how simplistic it was, with the two of them exchanging both words and meaningful glances. She imperceptibly leaned against him, taking some time again to stare at him. Yes, he had grown to be fairly handsome since those childhood days. Despite his crooked teeth, he still looked remarkably perfect to her. The eyes especially were what appealed the most to her as far as his physical features went. They were the most expressive pair she had seen in a person, and she could recognize his plethora of emotions. With a playful glint, she could tell when he was teasing or joyous. An indifferent glaze to them implied boredom. And what she saw in them now was something beautifully caring.

She wished to know what had happened to bring about this emotion she was quickly getting acquainted with. Perhaps romance didn't quite differ from being friends, after all. Stars twinkling and the wind whistling, she appreciated this lonely autumn night for all its enigmatic beauty. She sighed, this time more comfortable with this current situation and this potential alteration to her life in general. As a wise, educated young witch, she knew she could only be a young adolescent once. This last chance at innocence before the far more realistic, less fantastical part of life otherwise known as adulthood would come along—she planned to enjoy every second of her teenage years, never taking them for granted.

Distractedly smoothing back strands of her brown hair, she elaborated on what she previously said. "You look at me in a way I have never seen anyone look at me before."

Some of his blond hair fell gracefully into his sparkling eyes as he moved closer to her. She could sense his breath trailing over her skin, causing her to relax against him while he responded with, "Rowena...I have...Over the past few years, I have wanted us to be so much more than friends. There exists this intimacy we share, and I wish to explore it further. You have always been around, even when you didn't have to be."

"But, we bickered earlier about my status," Rowena bluntly pointed out.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Aye, tis true. I've sometimes expected you to stop visiting me at any given moment. You never stopped. And I've never stopped having...having these feelings for you, Ro, feelings I didn't think could exist."

Devon gently stroked her hair, and she patiently watched him weave his long calloused fingers through it. How could this young man beside her be a best friend? He was so much more than that to her too, she realized. She could reciprocate his emotions.

"I...I...," she started, blushing shyly from knowing how real this moment was. "I thought you preferred Lucrecia. You have sometimes spoken of her."

"It means not a whit," he whispered in her ear, cupping her cheek with one hand. "You have always captivated me, not your sister. You're intelligent, you're witty, and..."

He trailed off to seemingly give Rowena suspense to suffer through.

Please, she silently begged of him, just simply get to the point of all this. She needed to know why he appeared to be very much enamored with her.

"Absolutely stunning," he breathed, his soft pink lips brushing hers.

The warmth within her positively glowed, she swore, as she immediately wrapped her arms around him. And to feel his lips moving against hers was perfection. This could be love between them, this stirring, incredible emotion that set her soul on fire. Being close to him was what mattered now as well as to be irrevocably content. Slowly, reluctantly, she broke the kiss and stroked his dusky blond hair as he had stroked hers.

"I'm pleased you share the same sentiments as I do, Devon," Rowena warmly told him.

As a reply, he smiled back before leaning his forehead against hers while the flames cast shadows upon their faces.

* * *

**A/N: ****Well, review if you want.**


	8. Strength

**A/N: ****This is a bit of a sad chapter, but it does involve Salazar getting closure for something.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Strength**

"I am to be betrothed?" Salazar asked blankly out of disbelief, speaking around a mouthful of their dinner of roasted duck with Yorkshire pudding and other appetizers on the side.

King Ignatius coolly kept on eating as though his son's future marriage didn't matter in the slightest. "Son, I would presume to venture that you and Princess Maura will be wed within two years' time. Did you honestly think that you would go through your whole life unmarried?"

Somewhat irritated by the sarcasm laced in those words, Salazar glared. "Actually, Father, yes."

His father only emitted a derisive snort before carving up his portion of duck to even smaller pieces. "Well, I forbid you from even dwelling on that impossibility. You are a Slytherin. Therefore, it is your responsibility that you ensure our noble line continues."

Refusing to hear even one more word of such irksome truth (as much as he was loath to admit it), Salazar promptly stood up from his chair and stalked off to his potions chamber. He rarely retreated to his own room any more, considering potion brewing had quickly become his main passion over the years. It fully consumed him, and his perfectionist nature wouldn't settle for anything less than the best. He took to sleeping in his potions chamber, for he preferred to spend his time and energy there. At this point in his life, he had gone through every potion recipe in his book and started creating some of his own. Along with the bottles, cauldron, cupboard, and ingredients, scrolls of parchment were now strewn about the room.

Absentmindedly adding some gurdyroot to the dark blue liquid currently contained in his cauldron, Salazar sighed out of frustration. He had witnessed all sorts of deplorable personality traits from his father, but Ignatius' sense of pureblood preservation was appalling. Did he honestly need to marry some Irish princess to continue the Slytherin line? Then again, he bitterly acknowledged as he stirred five times clockwise with his wand, marriage was the only guarantee to an heir. He inwardly cursed his fate of being a prince as well. Better than being a pathetic Muggle commoner, but he nonetheless rather preferred to avoid marriage. Growing up in a constantly cold castle with an apathetic father didn't exactly translate into an overflowing capacity to love. If anything, the mere thought of love sickened Salazar to his stomach. Love was for the dreaming fools and the sensitive dolts.

However, he wasn't as detached and calculating as to marry strictly for breeding purposes. Once he contemplated further, he realized he just didn't want to squander his entire life and his life's work in favor of being tied down to a woman for all of his remaining days. He wanted his freedom. He wanted his solitude. As much as he himself deeply considered continuing the Slytherin line, it even paled in comparison to his potions. But, the latter was something that the king had barely, grudgingly accepted in recent years. Clearly, it wasn't the same as being wed to this Princess Maura, who reputedly was in possession of a very sizeable dowry. She also belonged to the House of Kieran, the wealthiest family in Ireland. With this union, she and Salazar would live luxuriously for the rest of their marriage.

Meanwhile, as both of their fathers heartily agreed that this would produce descendants of the purest magical blood, Salazar had his own dreams and ambitions. Outwardly, for the world to see, he was emotionless, devoid of passion of any kind whatsoever. That was a mere façade. Brewing potions, smelling them and sometimes venturing to taste them (some actually tasted rather sweet)—it was such an escape from everything in his wretched life, especially the restrictions he had as a royal prince. Sneaking away to his private chamber to watch whatever color of vapor wafted from the magical liquids was worth his time. Apart from conversing with Morathi, it was the only thing worth his time.

Sadly, his snake friend died a fortnight ago with the two of them sharing last thoughts before those gleaming black eyes closed forever. It was a weak heart, Morathi had confided to him; additionally, he hadn't been able to snatch up a rat to eat in days. Sure enough, his black scales had appeared particularly awful that night.

"I am old, my dear friend...too old," he barely hissed, his once strong, husky voice fading into a whisper of its former self. "I hate...to leave you. It has been...an honor...knowing you."

Salazar did the unthinkable and patted the old garden snake's head. "I share those same, exact thoughts, Morathi. Farewell...forever."

At first, he had felt little to nothing when Morathi passed away, ever loyal at his feet. It had been an eerie numbness before the heart-wrenching sense of loss overwhelmed him.

Though an animal, yes, Morathi had always remained his only friend through his childhood and through most of his adolescence. To be deprived of this closest confidant affected him more than he realized. He was truly alone for the first time since his earliest years, without any sympathetic person nearby. As he had done concerning the aftermath of the Muggle village incident, inevitably, he put up more defenses. He kept himself more emotionless, more detached than before. This was reasonable to him, toiling away with his all-consuming potions to forget his current situations and his depressing thoughts.

A light gray vapor emerged from his potion after he stirred in some unicorn hair, and the smell that came with it was very seductive. He nearly thought he could drown in this liquid.

Breathing in the scent more deeply, Salazar found that he was more than satisfied with his latest creation, which he decided to call Draught of Temporary Bliss. His own invention—how odd that he could make something that could induce cheerfulness. Or it made all too much sense, considering his relentless need for escapism. He dipped a wine glass into the cauldron to taste test the draught. Hmm...As enticing as it smelled. The urge to drink out of the whole cauldron was prevalent, tempting. Salazar felt his lips twitch in a barely perceptible smile before slowly, almost reluctantly moving away from his potion. His smile quickly faded as he sensed that unpleasant jolt of reality set back in.

All business now, he carefully poured some of the considerably lighter blue potion into one of his many bottles, corked it, and put it away in the cupboard. Perhaps he should explore the dungeons again, as he was often wont to do these days. When he was younger, he assumed in time he would shunt his curiosity for his deceased mother aside. However, this curiosity had merely strengthened with age, intensified into a need to discover the truth regarding her. It was morbid to say the least, especially with his craving for this type of knowledge since Morathi's death. He had to know more about Penelope—what she was like as a person. His answers were concealed somewhere in this castle, he was nearly certain of it. Why hadn't he considered this before? Perhaps as a young boy always absorbed in his own thoughts and doings, he was selfish enough to overlook this relevant part of his family history.

Starting off his daily routine (or more so nightly, for he preferred to be less suspicious with Ignatius indisposed or otherwise preoccupied), Salazar ventured down to the dungeons. It was pitch black down there that he couldn't even make out the outline of his hand, no matter how close to his face he held it.

"_Lumos_," he whispered, light soon emitting from his wand.

Could there be a secret passageway down here? For, he had inspected each and every chamber without much success. Most of them excluding his father's study had never been used, the corners covered in spiderwebs and grime. Basically, disgusting rubbish he didn't wish to deal with. Therefore, tonight, he deliberately walked slower than usual to see if anything stood out.

After a few yet excruciatingly long minutes of searching, Salazar accomplished nothing but practically stumbling after stepping on a bit of slime. Predictable to find in a dingy, filthy place such as this, he thought with disgust. Twas a wonder his father embraced this lowest floor of Greystone.

"Perhaps he should order the servants to clean the dungeons more, if he adores them so," he muttered with a twisted smirk before he discovered something that caught his eye instantly.

It was one of the many stones that the walls consisted of, only this one was special in that it jutted out. Doubting if there would even be a result to this, Salazar tentatively pushed the stone into its place.

Suddenly, that entire portion of wall sank in to reveal a doorless entryway through which appeared to be a bedroom. Awestruck at this extremely remarkable find, he could only stand where he was, glued to the spot. It hadn't been a passageway he stumbled upon but something far more incredible, far more _intriguing _than that. Cautiously, as though he was concerned over his mother's ghost shooing him away, Salazar stepped into the clearly vacant bedroom. He whispered "_Nox_," to turn out the light flickering from his wand before he muttered, "_Incendio_." Nearby sconces and candles sparked blue flames, giving him a suitable light to see all the things kept in storage. It was as if the occupant of this ornate chamber still resided here, with the bookshelves filled to the top with dusty tomes and the bed neatly made up with crimson sheets. There was also a divan for lounging, a cupboard like his one upstairs, and a vanity in the back corner.

Salazar didn't need someone to tell him that this had been his mother's room, though he was surprised that she had one at all. Wouldn't she have had shared bedchambers with Ignatius for both of them to lie together? Wondering if he could detect scent here at all, he breathed in whatever scent was wafting about. Unfortunately, he coughed from all the dust and mildew that had settled over the years. At the very least, he thought he smelled rosemary, thyme, and lavender. Those three were usually a witch's most favored herbs. Thus he could conclude Penelope had magical ability, though to what extent he didn't know. Hopefully, not a Squib—he would have admittedly been ashamed of that. Not dawdling too much further, he proceeded to investigate the room for more clues, more pieces of the puzzle that was his mother's true identity.

After squandering ten minutes peering through every nook and cranny and coming up empty, Salazar pulled the drawer to the vanity open out of frustration. He was skeptical about finding anything valuable to him there, just feminine rubbish that would give him absolutely no leads. Instead, what was in there astonished him.

It was a leather bound journal, its pages yellowed from the natural aging process. Some odd sensation coursed up and down Salazar's spine at seeing this, a piece of not only his mother's past but his as well. He needed to restrain himself before he got caught up in his excitement. Perhaps Penelope knew he wanted to know about her one day? Fingers trembling, he gently picked up the journal.

Not wanting to destroy the pages, he carefully and slowly turned them as though they might crumble at any given second. He held his breath as he reached an entry he impulsively decided to read. His mother's handwriting had been so neat and precise, surely the sign of an intelligent woman. He admired everything about it, shamelessly proud of her for such trifles as this. As he read further down the entry, he discovered that it had been written around the time she first met his father. She wrote about him so tenderly and lovingly, Salazar couldn't help but wonder if Ignatius had been a wholly different man back then. It must have been so, for there were neither complaints regarding his coldness nor any severe comments pertaining to his veiled insults. No, Ignatius must have been a more charming man at some point, for Penelope described his handsome face and "heavenly mannerisms." Still, Salazar wanted to vomit.

How could his father have ever been possibly kind to anyone without seeing how it benefited him? Salazar nonchalantly shrugged and skipped a few pages to an entry written shortly after his parents' marriage, which had apparently been arranged.

_11 October_

_Ig has been so kind to me, but perhaps this is only because of the gifts he has given me. Whatever I mention that I wish to own (he insists on frequently asking), he obtains for me as soon as possible. For example, the other day he surprised me with these gorgeous gardens that had been planted two months ago. There are so many flowers and herbs for my potions making now that I couldn't help but be pleased. However, I have only expressed to him once that out of all the magicks, potions is what I love most. Ig hadn't seemed to believe me, only laughing it off and telling me it was for hags who had been reduced to beggarwomen. Admittedly, I became disheartened at this._

_This is why this bedchamber that I accidentally discovered a fortnight ago is where I oftentimes retreat to now. As much as I love dear Ig and would do nearly anything for him, I cannot give this up. I refuse. No matter if he is to become king anon, with his father's health declining, I will still brew my potions. I have even created recipes of my own volition. And no amount of jewelry or books Ignatius bestows to me is going to sway my passions._

Salazar found himself grinding his teeth out of rage once he finished perusing this entry. How dare his father! Back then, this so-called kindness of his was only a façade for petty bribery. Then again, he hadn't even been thought of at the time Penelope married Ignatius. Perhaps his father really did love her. If so, he had had a strange way of expressing this love. Looking back through previous pages, Salazar gathered that Penelope came from an ancient magical line (as all purebloods originated from) and that her parents resolved to match her with Ignatius. They were two passionate teenagers in love then, though as Salazar flipped through the pages again, she believed that his love faded over the few years that they were together. The next entry he read sent a sharper jolt down his spine. This was written while she had been pregnant with him, a month before he was born.

_9 January_

_I rarely speak to Ignatius any more, and it is just the same with him. He gives me these concerned glances, as though he believes I will die giving birth. As pessimistic as he surely is, I intend to be alive for our child. He should be happy, overjoyed that we have a product of our love as well as someone to raise as our own. Whereas all Ig could say is that I must give birth to a son. I must give birth to a male heir to continue the Slytherin line. How could he abruptly resolve to be so calculating and cold over this? Whether male or female, I would assume that we love our child. I shall confront him tomorrow over this matter, for it could very well render us if nothing is said soon._

_In the meantime, I have occupied myself in this chamber all the time now while Ig goes about his royal duties. We had been so happy two years ago, but that was before he became king. Naturally, everything has changed since. On a daily basis, he speaks with his advisors concerning the kingdom and his duties. He is so preoccupied all day that by the time night falls and he gets his respite, he sometimes ignores me. It is as though he does not know I exist. For our baby's sake, I hope this is a temporary lapse of judgment on his part. I look forward to having this baby. I would teach him (or her) everything I know about potions. I would sing to him. I would show him how to be accepting and tolerant of others. And when he receives his wand, I will be there to support him._

This undeniably hurt, as frosty as he had attempted to be over these past couple of years or so. This could have been his mother had she still been alive. She would have clearly been so much more involved as a parent, played a bigger role in his life. But, she had been taken away too soon, because some cruel higher power decided that it was time for her to depart the earth. Maybe if he had known her first, such a death would have considerably stung less. He would have at least experienced love, what it consisted of, and how he could pass it on to other people. Instead, he ended up in this disgustingly pitiful circumstance of sitting in his mother's old bedchamber, reading her journal to try to get acquainted with her. Raking back his long black hair, Salazar gazed upon that neatly written penmanship once more.

If she was still here, would she have been proud of his potion brewing skills?

His fingers barely touched the pages as he turned them to the very last one, a week before his birthday, Penelope's death. Ghosts felt as though they surrounded him at this moment. As he studied the length of the entry, he felt his heart sink at how short it was.

_2 February_

_I do feel somewhat weakened by carrying my beloved child, but I am confident it will be rewarding in the end. At least Ig and I have mutually agreed on a name. If a boy, we will name him Salazar—a good, strong name for a strong person, I hope. If a girl, we will name her Rosemary after my preferred potion ingredient and herb. These last few days have been so blissful for me. Ignatius has visited me every single day, taking the time from his ever productive duties. He has been so good to me, so kind, that I wonder why I ever doubted him._

_And our child...We shall undoubtedly love him or her and be a family. In actuality, I hope to bear more children._

But, she never did, he uncomfortably realized as his currently shaking fingers closed the journal. She couldn't even survive giving birth to him all the way through—she died before seeing him. As for Ignatius, Salazar darkly concluded that the sudden change of heart in those last few days was all a ruse. He just wanted the heir, yet he took his wife for granted in the process. With her death, he hadn't bothered to blame himself but his son.

"Am I strong enough for you, Mother?" he asked bitterly to the ghost that wasn't there. "If you were still alive—if you had even _bothered_ to stay with me as a ghost—would you have been proud of me?"

Frustrated and recently incensed by the renewed sense of loss (for he never won, he always lost), Salazar hurled the journal away from him. If he could, he would burn the accursed thing on the spot. It disgusted him, he decided, how hopeful and optimistic Penelope had been during her last years. She acted as though being married to Ignatius had meant the world to her.

"You weren't strong," he nearly spat, glaring heatedly at the abandoned journal. "You were willing to die for that...that man I call my father. How could you?"

Nonetheless, he slept in the bed that once belonged to her that night, allowing the reminder of what might have been a familiar scent to embrace him. He could never be so angry with her.

She had been one more victim, after all.

* * *

**A/N: ****I think this was the first chapter in this story I actually felt really satisfied with. XD I don't know why, but I guess it's because I like solving mysteries within fics. And by the way, I really didn't mind killing off Morathi. He was starting to get on my nerves for some reason. Don't know why. Hm, you know, the more I write this fic, the more it's turning to be some Shakespearean tragedy set in the Middle Ages. I mean, yeesh, so much death.**


	9. Heirloom

**A/N: ****An update on Halloween, mwahahahahha! Happy Halloween, everybody! Well, my life is so awesome right. Birthday in 6 days, got my driver's license yesterday...This is so awesome for me. I'm sorry that I've hardly updated. I blame this on my new solitaire obsession.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**Edit 10/22/2013: I've changed King Liam's name to Cormac, since Liam is a little too modern a name to be in a medieval story. Don't be surprised if I make a couple more name changes to characters. Or at least one whose name I'm thinking about changing.**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Heirloom**

Feeble streams of sunlight poured through the small oval window, waking Salazar from his sleep the following morning. Initially, he was unsure as to whether he was still dreaming or not. Upon staring at this beautiful bedchamber he found himself in, the memories from last night came back to him. They were almost haunting him like that invisible ghost of his mother in the room with him. And he so selfishly wished that she was truly there, if not in the flesh then in otherworldly form, just so he could speak with her. He would hate to admit this to anyone else, not even himself, but he had felt a terrible anguish last night. Reading Penelope's journal had given him everything he needed to know about her in more extensive detail.

However, it also made him come by the revelation that he genuinely missed the chance of having the nearly ideal mother.

Salazar stretched out his arms, which painfully ached as he slowly lifted himself up from the bed. He sighed wearily, feeling like he had barely slept a wink the previous night. That journal, he knew, would haunt him eternally. The heavy burden he had to bear of his mother's memory still gave him a certain pang that deeply affected him. How could he carry on with his life when those words were permanently etched in his mind? If Penelope was alive now, he would have had, at the very least, maternal love. That thought had scarcely left his mind, for he realized it was true, too undeniably true. He glanced upon the hitherto forgotten journal on the floor, surprisingly undamaged from his rage.

As much as he longed to covet it forever and keep it by his side, he wondered if he would have to burn it all the same. Ignatius would ask questions about last night. He would demand him to tell him where he slept instead of his own private chamber. And the journal would eventually be revealed. Salazar had this strongly ominous feeling that once Penelope's innermost thoughts were discovered by his father, he would be killed for it. How dare he keep the journal a secret! Couldn't he see that Ignatius was the one who should be in possession of this last reminder of his dead wife, his eternally beloved? All these surely soon-to-be asked questions swarmed through Salazar's head, because he knew his father would interrogate him like this. Worse, he would be punished to the point of near-death, considering his mother was such a sensitive topic.

Concealing the journal away from Ignatius would gradually turn into an explosive confrontation of epic proportions. And Salazar was unsure if his mother would have wanted him dead because of something as miniscule as this in comparison to other things. He hoped that he could still keep his mother's memory alive without the journal. It was the only way out. Besides, some instinct told him that somehow, Penelope had insisted on being secretive to Ignatius for a reason.

"I apologize, Mother," he murmured humbly, gazing longingly at the journal. "But, Father has become far crueler since you've seen him last. Keeping this last bit of evidence of your existence will only result in terrible things. I must do this to eliminate the risk. I hope you understand."

Closing his eyes, for he truly could not bear destroying it, he added, "_Incendio_."

Blue flames erupted but were in control by Salazar's analytically calm yet pained mind. If he had done this to a possession of his father's, he admittedly wouldn't care and find himself watching the devouring flickers of flame. Considering this journal belonged to his dead mother—his too innocent yet kind mother—it was too devastating to fathom. But not only would this protect him in the long run, it would preserve her dignified memory as well. She had never wronged him in any way, never would have treated him as though he was something worthless. And thus why burning her thoughts in a sense nearly broke his heart, or, rather, what was left of it. Slowly, he opened his eyes to discover that a pile of dark colored ashes replaced binding and pages.

What a relief that it ended more quickly than he personally would have expected. So much the better, he thought, it was considerably less anxiety on him. To ease his restless mind from burning the wretched yet somewhat beautiful thing, he assured himself that Penelope would presumably prefer it this way. As long as he thought of her and could remember the more important entries, it mattered not what happened to the journal. Salazar was confident of this as he gathered the cooling ashes into his hand and then using the other hand to open the window. He couldn't help but feel comforted by the fact that these fragile, papery ashes smelled vaguely like rosemary. And because of what he read, he could say undoubtedly that that had been his mother's favorite scented herb.

Oddly enough, as he cast the ashes out into a windy day outside, the cold wind gently rather than harshly blew through his hair. It was almost as though she was really there.

Salazar smiled.

* * *

It had been a peaceful feeling Salazar had enjoyed early in the morning, one of tranquility that caused him less grief over the journal burning incident. Unfortunately, it had been the one chance at solitude. The rest of the day consisted of Ignatius ordering everybody about the castle to clean it top to bottom for the arrival of that Irish wench and her father later that evening. As for Salazar himself, he was subjected to final fittings of his recently sewn dark blue tunic with gold thread that the royal tailor specifically designed for him. Apathetically, he observed the tailor frantically looking him over before abruptly leaving his chamber. It only proved that the prince was indeed intimidating to other people, Muggles in particular. Recently, he learned that he could persuade people to respect him through terror.

Besides, whoever this Princess Maura was as a young woman, he did not care in the slightest to know. This surely was a passing whim for his father to attempt to arrange his marriage. And why not? Ignatius had practically controlled everything else in his life, always pulling the strings. He could be dead, and his influence on his son would still manage to have a major impact. Perhaps for once Salazar could rebel in his own way by acting as detached as possible toward his potentially betrothed. Her father, hopefully, would disapprove of this type of behavior. No blessing, no marriage and certainly no dowry. Yet he cared not as he took into consideration his ambitions that did not include marriage.

Instead of pulling his long raven hair back into his usual ponytail that he reserved for such important company, he opted not to trouble himself with this small task. From now on, he secretly vowed to himself, no one was worth his time, so in return, he would appear as though he wasn't worth theirs. In this manner, he could show his superiority to them. As prince, he could do whatever he wished whenever he felt that inclination. With the determination of being subtly stubborn at this upcoming dinner, Salazar proudly descended the stairs with his nose high in the air. This was the royal way of doing things, after all.

Ignatius waited for him in an uncharacteristically patient manner at the bottom of the stone steps, though he glared at his son with clear dissatisfaction. It came as no surprise.

Those dark brown eyes flashed furiously upon taking in Salazar's appearance. "I thought I ordered that bloody tailor to use the House of Slytherin colors for your tunic. Another horrendous trait with Mudbloods—they refuse to listen to a word we say. However, it is not only the tailor...tis you, _son_. Why do you not properly tie back your hair?"

"I'm of age, Father," Salazar replied coldly, cuttingly. "I can do whatever I please with my appearance. Now...Have our guests arrived yet?"

That seemed to silence Ignatius, for he said no more on that subject. "Aye, indeed. I have just seen their carriage. A miracle they arrived in time, taking the snow into account."

For, snowflakes were flying and twirling outside, the cold wind from the morning blowing more harshly.

An oppressive silence took over between father and son as they listened to that biting wind roar with all its might, penetrating through every crack and crevice. They both disregarded that chilliness, since they warily stared at each other. At length, the king broke the silence.

"So," he started evenly, his glare hardening in its intensity. "A servant told me that you were absent from your bedchamber this morning. I could not help but wonder regarding your whereabouts."

How could his father have possibly suspected he had done anything last night? For all he knew, he slept out in the gardens under the stars...though it was out-of-season to do such a thing. Still, he could have used a highly effective Warming Charm. He was as good at charms as potions. Luckily, before Salazar could explain himself, a royal advisor walked over toward them to announce that the Irish royalty had arrived.

As reluctant as he was to meet the two of them, he realized that he needed to show them that the Slytherin honor was far superior. Quietly walking alongside his father, he noted that the Irish king was heavy-set yet robust. Yes, he was making himself at home in this country all right, a mite too instantly, he assumed. Ordering the Muggles about as though they were his own, barking out commands to the stable boys to tend to his horses...He certainly made his presence known. King Ignatius bestowed King Cormac with a strained greeting that was neither warm nor cold but neutral for the sake of the betrothal and the dowry. If his father was too harsh, he would drive their foreign visitors away, and that would be far too many lost Galleons.

Princess Maura, King Cormac's eldest seventeen-year-old daughter, was no better than her father in terms of her demeanor, a similarity that Salazar was keen to observe. This trait of hers displeased him. How dare she order _his _servants about, as though they were dogs! Their value equaled to that of dogs for certain, but no one outside this castle was to behave like that to them, as far as he was concerned. As for his opinion of her physical appearance, he very much found himself apathetic to that as well. He would grudge the fact that she was indeed beautiful without any doubt about it. Honestly, he would be mad not to acknowledge that aspect. But, it was a cold beauty Maura had, dark red hair with sharp, glittering green eyes like frozen emeralds. Her skin was nearly as pale as his, practically as white as the snow.

Of course, he judged harshly, she would be wearing a dark green dress that enraged him thoroughly on the inside. Green was one of the Slytherin colors, and thusly, she was showing him her disrespect toward his house before speaking a word to him. The nerve of this woman! Worse yet, she was tall for a woman, carrying herself with a domineering arrogance that could be tangible wherever she went. As though she silently proclaimed she was the one in control in order to prove herself alluring.

Salazar resolved that he didn't much care for the Irish.

The manner in which she gazed at him he also disliked, those sharp eyes piercing him critically.

Her voice was like ice too as she remarked to her father, "The climate in this England place is dreadful, Father. So this is who I am to marry?"

Cormac nodded once in response. "Yes, Maura. This is King Ignatius and his son, your betrothed, Salazar."

Disdainfully wrinkling her narrow nose at him, she responded with, "I daresay he is not as handsome as I would personally desire. Yet, since he is indeed wealthy and of pure magical blood, I would be so bold to predict that I shall accept this. I suppose tis a suitable match. Ugh, but so pale!"

Despite her analytical comments and speaking of him as though he was a horse, Salazar nonetheless bowed politely to her and the king. Secretly, he dubbed her a pale snow witch.

Dinner hardly fared much better as the two kings discussed the princess' dowry, when the wedding date was to be set, the expenses, and so on. It made the two adolescent royals look like property, livestock, servants...Salazar refused to be referred to as such, since he was royalty for a reason. He was a pureblooded, gifted Slytherin _for a reason_. He moodily stabbed at his portion of veal as though it was the one matching him up with the wench coolly sitting across from him. As icy as ever, she ate with no regard to the conversation between their fathers. She looked bored, composed, and prideful all at once. Salazar gave her a stony glare. If he didn't know how to love, then she was far more hopeless than he was.

Her heart must have been reduced to a disgusting, shriveled-up thing at some point, for she could dine on the meal so coolly, so rationally. Did she not realize the trap of marriage she was in, the same as him? Those eyes were too green, too penetrating and not the type of penetrating that Ravenclaw...Wait. How could she have possibly appeared in his mind? It had been nearly six years.

"These Muggles, Mudbloods, whatever you call them," she spoke in typical Irish lilt, yet there was something cutting in her voice. "If you and I are to be wed, we will conquer entire villages. We will prove that purebloods are superior."

How come these words that he once believed himself sounded so poisonous coming from her lips? She treated this upcoming marriage like an alliance, merely that. Partaking in a side dish, she methodically chewed and swallowed whereas he no longer wished to touch his food. Her lack of emotion could have contributed to this.

The façade back on as usual, he snorted. "Is this what you want out of a marriage?"

Maura's eyebrows perked up. "Surely, you wish to have an equally powerful queen at your side, Salazar. You, of all people, must know—"

"Do not _dare _speak to me as though you know me," Salazar hissed, his tongue almost speaking Parselmouth. If she was seeking an ally, he was determined that she would not find one in him. This wretched girl repulsed him.

Princess Maura stared back at him, relatively unfazed by his harsh tone, and resumed eating shortly thereafter. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to strangle her if that would make her see reason. She was unbelievably impassive that he wished his father would have had him betrothed to another woman. That Ravenclaw girl would have been more bearable. Her again—the one with the brunette hair and the inquisitive blue-gray eyes that held so much gentleness, and yet she always kept him in suspense.

"Your mind drifts back to another girl...does it not?" Maura suddenly asked, cold and calculating. Contrary to her flat tone, those too vivid, too crystalline eyes glinted amusedly.

Salazar immediately shook his head and proceeded to stab his veal with more enthusiasm.

Feeling those horribly green eyes (pickle green, he concluded) boring into him, he warily glanced back up at her. This time, instead of a stolid expression, a nearly playful smirk danced upon her lips. He liked it better when she was expressionless.

"Legilimency," she proclaimed proudly, the smirk subtly widening. "It is a powerful magic that can do wonders. I believe you have heard of it?"

"Questioning my intelligence as well?" Salazar questioned, giving up on his dinner all together. "Wench, I believe I loathe you more as we speak. But, yes, I have heard of Legilimency."

"And I can use it whenever I wish."

He ignored this unnecessary comment with as much apathy as with other people he talked to. A fool she was to tell him of her ability. For, he was highly skilled at both Occlumency and Legilimency. He dared not to be a fool around schemers like her. Something warned him that she could become quite the trickster at a moment's notice. Or have the capability to be an evil sorceress later in life. Either way, he distrusted her through and through.

Salazar glared at her once again, to prove he could match her in cunning. "Maura, wench, whatever I choose to call you...I usually feel the inclination to work alone, whatever my plans with the Muggles are. I honestly care not and will not divulge them to you. My ambitions matter to me far more and are worth a greater deal. Potions maker shall be my profession. And I can safely assume that I do not require your help in such matters as those."

The smirk soon soured into a well-defined frown that reminded him more of a childish pout. Now it was his turn to sneer condescendingly at her. To think, she had clearly prided herself on being exceedingly clever, when in all actuality, she was as idiotic as he assumed. Stupid, stupid wench, he thought with a small smirk of his own.

"Do you not realize that this is the greatest opportunity ever bestowed to us?" she asked lowly, being discreet in her anger rather than screaming. "Ireland and England can work together to ensure that Mudblood wizards shall cease to exist."

Carelessly drumming his fingers against the table, he challenged her. "How tempting...Though, for the present, I find politics to be rather dull. What is the Irish countryside like, pray tell?"

The princess' mouth dropped open. She then prepared to retaliate with a fiery reply, when Ignatius dismissed himself from the table. He bid King Cormac a chilly farewell before beckoning to his son, who couldn't help but smirk as the Irish royals departed.

"I nearly forgot to give you something that belonged to your...to your...to _her_," his father informed him as they descended the slimy steps toward the dungeon study. Once there, he took out something from a locked box before carelessly throwing it toward him.

"This locket was my own, initially," he said in a stately fashion. "It is to be in the possession of a true Slytherin henceforth. Son, I am proud to say that you are a true Slytherin."

Proud...Perhaps Ignatius had been listening in on the cat-and-mouse game that was the conversation between him and his betrothed. He could vomit upon that term.

Sure enough, his father slightly grinned, in a sinister manner, of course. "You have learned to test whosoever intrudes upon your life. Well done. You have unwittingly revealed to me their motives for this match. However, I still insist that you marry Maura despite the fact that her dowry is quickly becoming...ah...most unappealing. But, blood purity will be maintained."

Staring at the beautiful silver locket, Salazar curtly nodded. "Yes, Father."

This locket would forever become his most prized possession, he decided, but it seemed like a reward for his more advanced cleverness. Yet, how was he to rid himself of the Irish wench? Time would tell, as was commonly said, and he would patiently wait this out.

The betrothal would surely not last forever. He would see to that.

* * *

**A/N: ****OK, I know this sounds weird, but I actually found out that, even to this day, that some (not all) British are prejudiced toward Irish people. What's weird is I found out through watching Bend it Like Beckham. It has the perfect example of why there's always been this rift between Irish and British. K, with that said, I must admit that Maura is beyond EVIL. I had her be that way. Then again, I know this seems like Salazar will become less evil. Uh, not really. But, he isn't as calculating as his (ugh) betrothed. Not quite yet. And sorry about the actual "heirloom" part of the chapter being rushed. I just had this awesome twisted game going between Salazar and Maura that heck, I almost forgot.**

**Next chapter should interest many of you.**

**Don't get too many cavities, y'all. Happy Halloween again!**


	10. The Suitor

**A/N: ****Hi, guys, I'm back. XD So, I thought you guys might want to take a break from the seriousness for a while and enjoy some comic relief. I present to you the comic relief.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**3/6/14: Well, now that I'm almost off for spring break, I thought I might as well get back to editing this story. So, starting where I left off...**

* * *

**Chapter 10: The Suitor**

Heir apparent Salazar Slytherin might have taken some consolation in the fact that he wasn't the only one dealing with a bothersome potential spouse. Rowena's older sister Lucrecia had some troubles of her own. It wasn't as though she was forced to marry this young man who caused her grief, but at age nineteen, she was encouraged to decide on a husband. Rowena could tell that this current suitor neither suited Lucrecia nor made her particularly happy. And she could also truly say that she didn't blame her sister in the slightest. It seemed as though this man would stop at nothing in terms of wooing.

And unfortunately for Lucrecia, he especially favored serenading to her in what he considered a hypnotizing voice. To the Ravenclaw sisters, it sounded like a dying animal.

This troublesome suitor was Lord Crestfield, Peter Crestfield who originally came from the vicinity of a small hamlet. The Crestfield manor was considered one of the finest in the country, bequeathed by his father to him. An eligible bachelor of twenty-four years, he possessed much in the way of Muggle wealth and was declared handsome by every woman who ever met him. They constantly gushed over his tousled dark hair and his dark brown eyes that made them swoon. However, Lucrecia was not at all impressed by his appearance. She found his personality to be quite repulsive. For, Lord Peter Crestfield's primary flaw was his vain arrogance.

Half the time, he would comb his fingers through his jet-black locks while he grinned stupidly at her. It caused her to ponder over her plight as well as wonder how she had become so terribly unlucky. Of course, since Lord and Lady Ravenclaw didn't have to witness his vain behavior, they absolutely adored him. Her father especially welcomed him with open arms to the point that he was already treating him as though he was his son-in-law. Or, far worse, his son. Yet, all the while, Peter shamelessly strived to win Lucrecia's affections with his allegedly charming words and attempted (but failed) kisses. She refused to even look at him sometimes, to spare him a second glance. Yes, she could see through him perfectly well. She could conclude that he was the type who was a womanizer, a liar, and a cheat. The truth lurked in his scheming, rodent-like eyes.

Rowena, who possessed a somewhat more open, caring heart than her sister, did not like Peter much better. No, on the contrary, she detested the man. It was one matter that he put up this unconvincing façade of a debonair suitor to impress Lucrecia. But, when it came to her own personal gripes, he insisted on calling her "sister" or "Ro" as though he was already married to her sister. Frankly, these mannerisms disgusted her. No wonder he had remained a bachelor all these years. It was so he could waste his time trying to wheedle himself into every young woman's heart. Unfortunately for him, he failed to realize that they as Ravenclaws were young intellectuals. Therefore, both girls, who happened to have very intelligent, wise parents, could easily judge a person's character without putting forth too much effort.

In the sisters' opinion, though, the absolutely worst aspect of Lord Crestfield's stay at Eaglewood Castle was that they had to keep spellcasting practice down to a minimum. They constantly had to resort to searching every single corner of their castle home to do their magic. In the past, their parents had made it perfectly clear that they didn't mind who they married, whether magical or Muggle. In this case, it was a curse in disguise. Lord and Lady Ravenclaw were not too keen on traumatizing their guest, unlike their two daughters. Besides, it all came back to that constant dread of exposure to the Muggle masses. True, it could result in their deaths, but Rowena was nonetheless annoyed at the current situation.

She and Lucrecia wanted nothing more than to drive Peter away from their home to the extent he wouldn't even consider returning. The only reason he pursued the elder Ravenclaw girl was that their family just so happened to be immensely wealthy. Even though they were not royals, they were still very much well-off. In addition to their riches, Lucrecia, a beauty in her own right, possessed the right looks and the right personality that hopelessly attracted Peter—but, it was mostly due to her looks. Such insipid behavior disgusted Rowena; she knew he must be dealt with and quickly. To have a man like him become her brother-in-law was unacceptable. She honestly tried to see any good in him and failed to find any shred of it. He could not disappear soon enough.

"We must force him out of our lives," she announced to her sister in her bedroom one rainy afternoon.

Frowning slightly upon hearing this remark, Lucrecia studied her folded hands upon her lap. She was merely thankful that she had just eluded her ever earnest suitor. Perhaps she should have rejected him the moment she saw him at the last ball they had attended. Like any other woman, she had been distracted by his appearance, if only for a few spare minutes. It was enough time for him to start charming and cajoling her to his point of view. However, she had already seen through him then. The trouble was that he insisted on attempting to court her and was soon invited to Eaglewood to be a leech. That certainly wasn't Lord Vincent's intention at the time, but now, Peter was inevitably overstaying his welcome. A fortnight had passed since that blasted ball.

"Yes, we have established that fact many—far too many—days ago, Ro," she replied wearily, leaning her face against her hand. Her blue eyes, normally brighter than the sky, had dulled and glazed over. She was so apparently tired of Peter that she was nearly sickened. Rowena felt sorry for her, truly sorry. As much as she tried hard to apply her intelligence and thereby formulate plans, it was all fruitless, hopeless, excruciatingly...

Wait, something struck her, an idea that could benefit them in the long run. It was ingenious, this idea, one that could solve all of their problems.

Subtly smirking, she told her sister, "Lucrecia, I suggest we put our magical talents to good use."

The hopeless glaze fled Lucrecia's eyes as she hesitantly lifted her face from her hand. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Rowena Ravenclaw, you should know we cannot do that! Our own parents have forbidden it. Suppose he informs other Muggles of our magic?"

Rowena smirked more openly. "We have traded places, it seems. You are the one fretting while I remain composed and confident in our success. Where has your spirit fled, Lucy?"

That did it in terms of motivation. Lucrecia stood up, defiantly tossed her long blonde braid back over her shoulders, and gazed determinedly out the window. Though the rain poured incessantly outside, it did not douse the fire burning brightly in those eyes. She was her old self again. Rowena practically burst with pride upon witnessing this.

After staring thus determinedly out the window, Lucrecia turned back around with that air of fierce power still intact. "How do we go about this?"

Rowena sighed, dreading that question and how to respond to it. "I am still unsure. Should you cast spells on him?"

"No, I think you should. Better yet, you shall cast a spell on him, and then I will see to the rest."

"Brilliant!"

"No, Rowena," her sister said, shaking her head and resting her hand on Rowena's arm. "You are the brilliant one for thinking up this idea. Peter is sure to no longer be in our lives."

The brunette beamed from being this appreciated, but at this point, she would do anything to chase Peter away.

* * *

As a persistent suitor who was willing to go out of his way to entrance his darling Lucrecia, Peter was disappointed the day before when the rain fell in torrents. For, he had wanted so desperately to share a mid-afternoon picnic with the woman of his temporary dreams. At least until the next beautiful young woman came along. Luckily, fate smiled upon him with a glorious sunny day following that day of seemingly eternal rain washing everything away. He eagerly confided in Lucrecia regarding his plans, and she readily complied with a deceivingly enthused, agreeable smile. Then, she in turn informed Rowena of this outing and begged her to secretly accompany them.

She couldn't wait until their own plan was initiated—yes, Rowena, normally not a childish trickster by nature, took delight in seeing the shocked expression on Peter's face. His arrogance needed to be forgotten, his ego destroyed, and his head deflated considerably. With her cherished willow wand in hand, she trailed after Lucrecia and Peter in the afternoon and pitied her sister more than ever. The energetic yet coolly relaxed lord effortlessly took his pursuit's hand in his, smiling in his tell-tale superficial manner. He put up such a horrible façade—a scheming trickster behind his innocent charmer image. How in the world did he become so warped? Shrugging to herself, Rowena stared blankly at the couple, disbelieving how Lucrecia could have tolerated this suitor for so long. She attributed it to limitless patience.

Ensuring to stay in the background, Rowena casually observed Peter motioning over to a spot on the ground for him and Lucrecia to sit. It wasn't as though it mattered where they sat—the grounds, the entire expanse, were treeless with the nearest forest approximately fifty to a hundred yards away. And though it was sunny, it was a crisp, somewhat chilly late autumn day. How idiotic and foolish was Peter Crestfield? It was a shame that there weren't any trees, so Rowena stood a considerable distance away from them as an improvisation. She would have to hope that she wouldn't be caught by the dense suitor.

"What a fine day, would you not agree, dear Lucrecia?" Peter asked conversationally, removing the packed food from a wicker basket he had been carrying.

Lucrecia smiled what she considered to be a demure smile and nodded in response to his blissful question. She decided that since it was likely the last time she would ever see him, she gave him false hope by touching his hand. Encouraged, Peter grinned and leaned toward her...

"Oh, you packed a cheese wheel," Lucrecia pretended to marvel. "Charming."

Rowena swore that she saw his shoulders lower. "Yes, I was hoping you would take notice of it."

Hmph, that was most certainly _not _what he was hoping. At least Lucrecia was doing an excellent job in stalling the plan by allowing it to gradually build.

With lidded eyes, she watched Peter slice up the cheese wheel with the cutlery he had also packed. They shared the delectable Brie cheese that made Rowena's stomach growl. The sooner they could scare him, the sooner she could eat as well. In the meantime, he poured champagne into two goblets.

That lazy grin returned as he remarked, "The finest sparkling champagne in all of France, I might add. I cannot help but partake in it every night before bed."

"Oh dear, Peter, I hope you don't become too intoxicated."

"Not usually, love, only a wee tipsy. It is quite a sensation, honestly."

Clearly, he was going to turn out to be the resident drunkard, Rowena thought disgustedly. Nothing could surprise her about him any more.

Not only did she see him as a pitiful drunk in his future, she could assume that he would be as rotund as that wheel of cheese. Never had she seen a man eat so much in her entire life. Not even her father consumed that much at one time.

"How is our sister faring?" Peter inquired after her, and she very nearly retched at the mere thought of being his sister-in-law. He was too overconfident, that Crestfield. Oh, he would be shocked at the surprise she had in store for him!

Lucrecia shrugged indifferently. "I wonder why you would trouble yourself to ask, Peter. You could easily converse with her within our castle. I shan't complain in the slightest. It isn't as though you need spend every waking moment with me."

For her sister's sake, Rowena wished she hadn't let that sentence carelessly come out of her mouth like that. It was indiscreet, and it would also give this rich, lethargic simpleton some ideas. The last thing they wanted to do, she thought, was to inflate his head even larger.

He let out a boisterous laugh. "Perhaps I do, sweetest Lucrecia, perhaps I do. I would never allow another man to take you from me."

Yet, he would permit himself to be taken with and by other women. The chauvinist swine! Rowena sensed her fingers twitching before clenching tightly on her wand.

As she was sorely tempted to cast the spell she had in mind now, she knew she would have to allow Lucrecia to continue stalling. Just a few more minutes...

She repeated that in her head like the most blessed mantra, fervently hoping that it would be a few more minutes. She would crack if this carried on for another hour. Meanwhile, Lucrecia bit into a cherry tart and then licked her lips. The seductive torture she was placing on Peter was priceless.

Lowering her voice, she commented, "While we're on the subject, enlighten me about your family. How are they faring?"

The immature, deplorable suitor made a face. "Well, I would imagine, perfectly well. Father insists that I've been far too lazy as of late, however."

One more wretched thing about him, Rowena noted, he resented the sensible advice of his family. He would pay for that irresponsibility one day.

"Oh?"

"Yes. He says I have all this land without being at all productive. The serfs nearby can hunt game for me without tribulation. What does he think I am? An oaf? Oh, enough about them"—Peter waved his hand aside before removing a dreaded object from the basket—"I have composed a new song specifically for you, my enchanting muse. It is devoted to every single thing I love about you."

Oh no! Rowena cringed as soon as Peter sang out his painfully off-key notes. Lucrecia flinched out of revulsion as well.

This was it. Fare thee well, man who would never, beyond a shadow of a doubt, be Lucrecia's in any way, shape, or form. She quickly strode toward the couple but pointed her wand directly at Peter. No more would they hear his ghastly singing. No more would they hear his terrible attempts at plucking lute strings.

"_Mobilicorpus_!" she shouted with more conviction than she had ever produced while incanting this spell. It pleased her that she was able to muster up the confidence. As one of the most difficult spells she had cast during her training, she finally managed to perfect it. And now she adored it once she saw proud Lord Crestfield in an undignified position.

He looked quite comical, flailing his arms and legs while in traumatized shock over why he was in mid-air. Without feeling the least bit of shame concerning her actions, Rowena held up her wand to keep him suspended. This _Mobilicorpus _was her strongest casting yet. Lucrecia stood looking on, smiling amusedly. Whimpering from the heart-stopping fear of being six feet upwards from the ground, Peter clutched his lute tightly to his chest. Lucrecia resolved not to stand by as a witness any longer.

"_Accio lute_!" she joined in on the spellcasting.

The lute sped into her hands while she and Rowena exchanged laughing glances that signified just how victorious they felt at this moment.

"What sort of devilment is this, Lucrecia?" Peter barked out, revealing his true colors. "What bloody kind of trick _is this_?"

Smashing his lute to bits and stomping on the splinters for good measure, the blonde Ravenclaw sister could not resist smirking at him. "This may sound strange to you, darling Peter, but my sister and I happen to be witches. And the nonsensical words you heard from the both of us? Those are spells that we use in the magic world."

He looked maddened with his wide eyes, deranged by his anger, which compelled Rowena to move him across a few yards. She would make the most of taunting him until he would run away from them. After all, he clearly hated them.

Struggling to reach the ground (to possibly attempt to fix his damaged lute that he'd been unable to play), he accused, "You lie!"

"Ah," Rowena said, blue-gray eyes twinkling gleefully. "But, we are indeed witches, Peter. In fact, we would call you a Muggle in our world. _Our _world. There is a difference between that and your world, brother."

Brother, ha! A more playful joke she could not have come up with at that moment.

Lucrecia grinned. "And I would not advise telling anyone else. We may or may not turn you into a toad."

With those additional taunting words from her sister, Rowena took this as a cue to set Peter down.

He collapsed ungracefully, sprawled out on the ground in a most un-lordly fashion. Frantically picking up the broken, mangled pieces of his lute, Lord Peter Crestfield ran toward the stables and his horse. Soon, the Ravenclaw sisters happily listened to the heavy plodding of a horse's hooves.

"Fare thee well!" they yelled in his direction, barely containing their laughter.

It was a memorable day that involved the departure of a despised suitor whom they never saw again. And when later asked by their parents as to how Peter left in such an impromptu manner, Lucrecia said that he took his wooing elsewhere. Rowena backed this story by adding that Peter already had another pursuit.

Their father declared, "I never liked the man. You're best off without him, Lucrecia. Even when I was civil to him, he was quite irksome."

* * *

**A/N: ****Initially writing that last line made me laugh. This was a fun chapter to write. Actually, Peter was based off some kid in my grade I was pissed off at for a bit. That's why Peter was seriously this much of an idiot.**

**Well, back to the seriousness next time, but I hope you enjoyed the comedy in this one.**


	11. Birthday

**A/N: ****Sorry that this is taking me forever to update this fic any more. School just royally sucks. Luckily, I have Thanksgiving break to catch up.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**3/7/14: Tweaked here and there to improve the dialogue, which was fine for the most part...but definitely needed a little work.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Birthday**

Being a proper young lady was vastly overrated. That had been Rowena's creed ever since she had learned the ways that a _proper young lady _should conduct herself. It had lasted since childhood and endured even now as she sat at her vanity. A maidservant was assisting her in arranging her lustrous brown hair in a bun that would supposedly flatter her looks. Rowena highly doubted this assumption. She would have loved nothing more than to go to this ball (a birthday celebration for that dour, wretched Prince Salazar, no less) with her hair loose and free, as it had been at that fateful Michaelmas celebration a few months back. The delightful celebration had resulted in her and Devon becoming closer than they could have imagined. They could be more comfortably intimate with each other without leaving things unsaid now. It was a relationship that Rowena cherished.

Yet, as they aged, she wondered if they would become distant like she feared would happen someday. Though they hadn't allowed this issue to stop them before, the inevitable difference in backgrounds would probably render them apart. Rowena also subconsciously knew that this romance of theirs would not endure forever. She could not predict what would separate them in the end. But, this was an emotion shared between two adolescents. It surely could not last. Sighing from the honesty of her thoughts, she gazed at her solemn reflection in the mirror. She looked so mature, so adult. Was growing up really that difficult?

"You look lovely, Lady Ravenclaw," the maidservant complimented reverently behind her.

Lady Ravenclaw...This was how she was referred to now by the servants, despite the fact that neither she nor her sister would become ladies unless their mother died or they were married off. Averting her eyes from her depressed reflection, she stared down at the sapphire broach that her mother insisted that she wear again. Becoming an adult, letting go of childish things that would be scathingly deemed silly by her peers...Was she truly prepared for crossing that threshold? Oh, for Merlin's sake, she thought dismissively, it was one night that she would not act like herself. The following day, she was sure to easily slide back into her real personality. It was as though she was performing whenever she attended any balls, pretending to be the demure, coy woman she wasn't. She was shy, yes, but she was fierier than almost anyone else would acknowledge.

With the intent to play her part of the overly quiet young lady, Rowena rode the carriage with her family to that dour castle that was almost too familiar. This time, it was not raining with the sky overcast and gray. It was, however, in the midst of a harshly cold winter, with the snowflakes dancing their way down to the ground. Instead of mud, the fields and marshes and almost everywhere else were covered with the crisp white snow. The crystalline whiteness contrasted with the steel gray sky. Rowena grudged the coincidence that King Ignatius planned these worthless balls at the most ill-suited times of the year. Then again, she supposed that the prince was unable to pick the day he was born. In a certain respect, Prince Salazar having been born on a winter day was all too fitting. He was as cold and pale as this snow.

Though the king wished to celebrate his son's landmark eighteenth birthday, Rowena bitterly wished that such a ball wouldn't have taken place. She despised that soulless castle and hardly cared for the man whose birthday was centered round such festivity. In all of her wildest dreams, she would never have remotely suspected that she would see the Slytherins again. Like the rest of her family, she wasn't keen on going to Greystone. Not even Lucrecia much enjoyed the prospect, though she did mention that royal balls were opportune moments for socialization. With a snort that verged on sarcasm, Rowena turned her gaze to the snow that was slowly accumulating and dully watched the snowflakes.

All of the dreary aspects of Greystone that gave her chills—unpleasant ones at that—were mercilessly intact. Those stone walls were as formidable as ever, the king was as apathetic as ever, the feast was as awkward as ever...The list was endless. Everything passed by in a blur as Rowena dined on her selected entrée of eel, to give that dish a try. It turned out that it wasn't worth her bravery. She almost coughed from the slippery texture of her mouthful of eel. Pushing the dish away from her, she barely resisted pulling a disgusted face.

Amused, her sister commented, "You always seem to have less of an appetite here."

With a moody groan, for she disliked having her mind read, Rowena frowned. "Lucrecia, Greystone would cause me to lose appetite for anything. And not only for food."

Lucrecia smiled (it looked more like a sly grin to Rowena) and enjoyed her savory partridge pie. "You are most perceptive of everything around you, Ro. I must admit that you are correct in this assumption. It is as though this castle sucks the life out of everything, not taking into account the inhabitants. But, you must make the best of the situation. Pursue conversations with different people for once. Dance! That is what I will do."

Adjusting the silver diadem on her head (she had received it from her mother recently as a family heirloom), she smiled ruefully. "I am nothing like you. Nay, I will remain secluded as I usually am. I know nothing else."

Lucrecia shrugged. "If it pleases you. But, I still wish you would be more sociable."

Rowena merely shook her head in response, showing to her sister that her mind was made up. And her opinion tended to be unshakeable. Soon, people started finishing off their meals and making their way to the ballroom, which gave her so much apprehension. It wasn't as though she would make any effort to dance, but it always felt like numerous pairs of eyes stared at her. She constantly wondered why that was. Surely, she didn't appear that attractive. Though in her magenta dress, she did feel a sense of empowerment, like she could be in control with only her movements. Her eyes took in the vaguely familiar surroundings as she ventured about the ballroom. There were magical ice sculptures in the far corners of the room, enchanted so that they wouldn't melt during the night.

The chandelier hung above, with its glass drops sparkling like diamonds. And those vivid colors that seemed to never vanish were still there. They stood out brightly among all the dull shades of the castle. Swirling and twirling, they were so aesthetically appealing to the eye, a sort of persistent magic. Caught up in her dreamy fantasies, Rowena sighed as she gazed in awe at these dancing couples. Perhaps someday, she could join them and appear as equally attractive with her partner as they did. For now, she could merely fantasize, hoping that day would come soon. As much as she scoffed at dancing in general, she couldn't help but be longing over it.

Increasingly trapped inside her reverie, Rowena glimpsed two people out of the corner of her eye. Curious, she peered over her shoulder to see a man who looked fairly familiar to her. Was he the prince?

There was also a woman with long (longer than hers) auburn hair pinned back by two bejeweled clips, amethyst clips, no less. This mysterious lady stood beside the young man, but judging by the expression on his face, he was displeased that she drew so near him. Cautiously, attempting to appear as inconspicuous as possible, Rowena turned around to observe the two of them engaging in stiff conversation. The woman, who spoke in a strong Irish accent, was far more talkative—in fact, almost too talkative. She was enviously pretty in a cream colored dress with gold trimming, yet in contrast to her pale skin, she looked like a translucent ghost. If Rowena was dreaming, she could have sworn this Irish girl was truly dead. As for the man...

Really, she had looked forward to never seeing his face again after that awful quarrel between them six years ago. But...he had grown to be so striking. Shamefully, she found that she could hardly catch her breath or keep her eyes off him. He wore a green tunic with silver trim—simple yet handsome at the same time. Rowena had the urge to scold herself on thinking such thoughts regarding such a callous man. He had no emotions, seemingly, and surely he wouldn't dare look upon her in this way. How wrong she was.

"Wench, must you insist on following me all bloody night?" Salazar inquired, slowly losing his temper.

Maura, who had yet to genuinely smile (which, for some reason, truly perplexed him), glared fiercely at him. "If we are to prove that we are betrothed, Salazar, we will show these guests that we are the superior people."

He couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "Honestly, I do not care for dancing. That applies to every woman, not just you. And you seem to be aware of Father's intent on throwing this idiotic birthday ball. You agree with him, after all. In my honor, so he said. I will be damned if I..."

There she was. The one woman who had been haunting his thoughts as of late, though he tried blocking her out for six years. She was...She was more beautiful than he could have possibly imagined. His traitorous heart started pounding of its own accord.

Her gorgeous brown hair was held up in a sophisticated bun that flattered her face, especially with those stray strands framing it. Her blue-gray eyes were still fathomless and could ostensibly see right through him. And her magenta dress hugged every curve of her body. The diadem perched atop her heard was what struck him about her the most as well. She looked like the true princess in this ballroom and not his arrogant betrothed.

"Salazar, what were you prepared to say to me? Salazar?"

He cast Maura a stony glance. "Perhaps if you were half the skilled Legilimens as you claim you are, you would have found out for yourself. If you will excuse me..."

Impulsively, she took hold of his hand. "That is the girl, is it not? Is she to ruin our plans?"

How was he to dignify that with a response? Salazar carelessly shrugged off his potential fiancée's hand out of revulsion for her. Their fathers were both delusional fools for ever believing that they had anything in common. No, their fathers' combined avarice was more important. Quite frankly, he felt somewhat relieved that Rowena had appeared. Not that he would admit it. He started walking toward her, and she held her breath, as much as she hated to do so in his presence. But, he was so tall, his long black hair nearly reaching his shoulders—he looked so dark and intimidating. How could he be walking toward her? Doubtlessly, he prepared to mock her family and their customs again.

Instead, he spoke to her civilly, "Lady Ravenclaw, it has been quite a few years since we have made each other's acquaintance. I am pleased that you could come to my birthday celebration this night."

His tone was suspiciously too civil for Rowena's tastes. "Hmph, indeed, Slytherin."

"Are you willing to carry a grudge—that stemmed from your childhood, no less?"

Forgetting her previous awe toward him, she retorted, "If you insulted my family so scathingly when you were about twelve years of age, I would assume that your politeness is merely a façade."

"Your tongue has sharpened."

"And yours has slackened."

Salazar's green-gray eyes flashed irritably. "Nay, I simply wish to appear as a proper, matured host."

Rowena shot back with a smoldering glare that matched, even exceeded, his own scowl. "Tis all about pride with you Slytherins, is it not?"

"We prefer to maintain our dignity, Lady Ravenclaw."

"If dignity is your arrogance and self-conceit, then yea, I suppose it is very well maintained. And who is the redheaded girl?" She pointed to Maura, who cast the both of them filthy glances before engaging in conversation with some gentleman.

Glancing over his shoulder, Salazar sighed angrily, preferring to avoid that topic. The Irish princess had insisted on being a thorn in his side ever since she returned to his castle a week ago. He was surprised that he hadn't done a Muggle job and burnt himself at the stake yet.

Looking back toward the now fiery brunette (increasingly spunky and less alluring by the minute, he added to himself), he told her steadily, "She is Princess Maura of Ireland. She is also planned to be my betrothed, though frankly, I'd much rather not have her in my company."

"Ah, you have finally found someone as repulsive as yourself. My heartiest congratulations."

He sniffed. "Quite the contrary. Care to dance?"

Prepared to retaliate with a combative retort, Rowena froze upon hearing the offer, the same one that she propositioned him with as a young girl. She had grown up since then and therefore should have known better.

However, she was stunned when she recovered enough to say, "I would," only to feel the unfamiliar sensation of an arm wrapped around her waist. His arm, which she thought was lacking in muscle before when in actuality, it looked quite muscular. Averting her eyes away, she grudgingly accepted his hand. Salazar swept her into the crowd of dancing couples whom she envied moments ago. Now, she wanted to be as far away from them as possible. Her pride had deteriorated into shambles. She could absolutely _not_ be seen dancing with Prince Salazar from the House of Slytherin. If anything, she would have picked a blast-ended skrewt as a dancing partner instead of him. All eyes stared her down, and she despised the attention. She sensed the gazes intensified when he lifted her chin.

"Eye contact is most important in dancing. Did you not know that?" he asked callously.

He had become far more detestable with age, she thought out of annoyance, the only difference being that he was more subtle in his insults. His arrogance exceeded that of every other man she had met.

"I customarily refuse to dance on principle," Rowena replied stonily. "And if it wasn't forbidden in a woman's decorum to spit, I would do so this minute."

A light smirk played on Salazar's lips as he led her across the ballroom floor. "Am I that unbearable to you?"

"Aye, and I'm sure it is the desired effect of your conceit."

"It is, for more reasons than one."

Giving him a curt nod in feigned agreement, Rowena lifted her eyes to meet his cold ones. Though they usually were icy and emotionless, they were more intense in their gaze than she had ever seen before. She stumbled backward slightly out of some unknown prickling up and down her spine while he gripped her somewhat tighter to prevent her from falling. It was uncharacteristically chivalrous of him. Despite her appreciation toward him for saving her some embarrassment, she nonetheless glared at him, expecting him to say something vitriolic regarding the situation. To her amazement, she discovered an unreadable expression on his face. Distractedly, he ran a hand through her hair, causing her to inadvertently tremble. What was wrong with him? He appeared to snap back to reality as his eyes cleared.

"Would you mind explaining what that was all about, Slytherin?" Rowena asked, her tone filled with blame when she really hadn't any. She was scared that she possibly felt something around him that she failed to feel around Devon. It was confusing, maddening, and disconcerting all at once. He sighed before looking back at her once again.

"I was distracted. My apologies, Lady Ravenclaw," he finally said emotionlessly, masking what he was truly feeling on the inside. For, in truth, it had been an impulse of his to touch her. It was an unexplainable phenomenon, considering his preference for keeping his distance. Her eyes glittered so brightly with annoyance...It entranced him in a way that it shouldn't have. Salazar would have to be more careful from now on.

In the meantime, Rowena still recovered from his touch that she swore was involuntary. Why did his hand feel so good brushing against her skin? And there was something about the way he looked at her, too. But, she failed to identify that fleeting emotion that accelerated her heartbeat.

Before she could stop herself, she admitted, "Forgive my prior reaction. I was confused regarding that...that..."

Salazar waved a dismissive hand. "It matters not. I wasn't right in what I did."

Their eyes met once again, and suddenly, all the other couples vanished from Rowena's sight. Time stopped. Everything froze. And all she could see was him.

Warning alarms rang out within Salazar's head, telling him that this was far too close to be near any woman, especially a Ravenclaw. His breath caught in his throat as he gazed into her blue-gray eyes. They hypnotized him as alluringly as ever, drew him in like they had when he was younger. He never assumed that he could ever be this attracted to a woman, yet he shook this off by realizing that every woman was superior to Maura in comparison. Continuing to meditate over this dilemma within his head, he subconsciously stepped back.

"I bid you goodnight, Lady Ravenclaw, and farewell," he told her hurriedly, hoping that this would be the last time they met. It was for the best.

Sensing his eagerness to rid himself of her, Rowena retreated a couple steps in response and put her own mask back on. "I wish the same tidings to you, Slytherin. Enjoy the rest of your birthday."

She quickly spun on her heel and left him numbly standing there, not even bothering to gauge his reaction. How could she let herself come close to a man who could and most likely would break her? Was his politeness an act? Or was he being sincere? Nonetheless, Salazar Slytherin's heart was cold and uncaring to the point that it could not be saved. She had Devon to consider as well.

However, Rowena found that all the convincing in the world couldn't reassure her of any of these things.

* * *

**A/N: ****OK, well, my favorite part that I wrote here, personally, was the dialogue between Rowena and Salazar. It was just so hostile. The reason why Rowena especially was more hostile than usual was that she figured that Salazar would jump at the chance to taunt her again. And she wasn't going to leave herself vulnerable. And also maybe the diadem had something to do with her cleverer than usual dialogue...hmmm...**

**OK, another thing. This may be a typical American chick thing, I don't know, but for some reason, Salazar looked a lot better in my head. Probably because I was thinking in terms of Tom Riddle, who was supposed to be this coldly handsome type of guy. When I saw the Famous Witch & Wizard "card" of Salazar in one of the games, I was like, "dang..." I didn't want him looking like Cornelius off Planet of the Apes. And I'm not that big a Planet of the Apes fan. So excuse my shallow American chick ways! XD**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	12. Solemn Goodbye

**A/N: ****Well, you guys are in for a treat. XD Since I didn't have much homework this week (well, a lot of math, but I'll get around to it) and my solitare obsession has died down (I'm pretty much mistress of that game now), I have updated earlier than usual. Yaaay! This also makes up for any lousy length of time updating I've done in the past. This chapter is...well, I guess you can say it's somewhat of a downer.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Solemn Goodbye**

Salazar was extremely relieved once Princess Maura and her equally deplorable father departed for Ireland yet again the week after his birthday celebration. Hopefully, the union between him and her would not come to pass. The Ravenclaw girl's presence this last week made him more certain that he could never see the princess as desirable. Not that he would have to admit it. It was dangerous for him to feel anything for anybody. At least Maura would no longer pester him during his potions brewing for quite some time. Perhaps something tragic would befall her valuable possessions, reducing her dowry to nothing. Perhaps then, his father wouldn't force him to marry her.

Sighing, he settled himself down on that old garden bench, where he sat looking off in the distance.

The gardens were dead and desolate, as they usually were during the iciest of these depressing winter days. Luckily, hardly any wind blew throughout the grounds, so it didn't feel all that bone-chilling. Besides, Salazar was accustomed to the cold.

For once, he stopped to consider his life thus far and what he planned to do in the future. A few days ago, he had become a man by turning eighteen years old. Naturally, he realized that he needed to leave his childhood behind. As a child, he had been naïve. Perhaps he wasn't as blissfully unaware as other children, but he had had much to learn. Most of that learning had taken place alone, without any companion to guide him along the way, save for a mere snake. And the omniscient presence of his father constantly controlled him.

This was what Salazar needed to do, something wholly essential to his future as well as his ambitions. He had to shake the influence of Ignatius, who always acted as puppetmaster to puppet. Eighteen years of such oppression was too many for him. Yet, he glanced down at the gold heirloom locket clasped around his neck. Carefully, he fingered it, tracing the curvy "S" insignia for Slytherin. This was what he had to live up to, his family name. His mind had indeed been set concerning his avoidance and disdain of the Muggles, and when he would become king, he would carry out his business alone. Loneliness was virtually non-existent to him, for he neither experienced it nor cared much about it. So he told himself.

After all, loneliness was a human feeling of vulnerability that was unacceptable.

He would turn his back on the kingdom that would supposedly be his one day, casting aside those wretched Muggles who shamed him from so early an age. For all he knew, they could have hated him since his birth. It didn't matter. Brewing his potions and perfecting his craft was what he planned to focus on for the rest of his life. As for money, he had enough of it to last his entire life. He would never have to work for anything, remaining a recluse who refused to talk to the servants. This was the kind of man he pictured himself to be in twenty years' time, silent and emotionless and distant. No one would be able to reach him, to take him away from his void. With a wry smile, he thought he could ensure that that Irish princess would be out of his life forever. He could care less about her dowry.

As for the other young woman, the enigmatic Rowena Ravenclaw, he intended to push her out of his thoughts permanently. It had been pathetic enough that she intruded his mind for six years. And then she and her blood traitor family simply _had to be _invited to his birthday celebration. Ignatius' excuse had been that pureblooded families would gradually die out, and they became rarer with each new century. Yet, around her, Salazar's heart had turned traitorous that night by pounding once he looked into her gentle blue-gray eyes. He previously had this prediction that she would grow into such a comely woman. Her beauty and her eyes were a powerful combination of perfection, more perfect than he thought a woman could possibly be. He couldn't resist asking her to dance.

Normally, dancing was abhorrent to him, something that made him flinch due to the physical contact it involved. He could barely tolerate the awkwardness. However, when he held Rowena around the waist for the first time, he felt...he felt a sensation down his spine. Though her eyes flashed with condescension and revulsion for him, there was some other emotion as well. Confusion.

To say the least, Salazar could honestly say that he didn't blame her. He remained confused, too. If she wasn't so frustratingly mysterious, he wouldn't feel himself drawn to her to the point that he troubled himself with the task of forgetting about her. He _couldn't_ forget her. All this time, Salazar had attempted to keep his emotions in check, so that he could pretend that there was no attraction between the two of them. And if there was, he could never forgive himself. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, especially since he didn't know about love.

A snarl curled onto his lips as he pulled at his hair in utter frustration for the conflicting thoughts and emotions threatening to implode. How could one woman from a family of blood traitors cause him to act like this? He wanted to touch her even more after he had brushed his hand through her soft brown hair. He didn't know why either. He tightened his grip on the locket with urgency before he gradually relaxed. No one could deny she was beautiful. Perhaps another man claimed her affections, which would not surprise him in the slightest. She hadn't even wanted to look twice at him that night. What a delusional fool he was becoming.

The snowflakes returned, blending into his hair, while he grappled with his many thoughts and reflections. Salazar made no move to brush them off and simply closed his eyes.

To forget.

* * *

In the midst of the month of March, his father started taking ill, which involved excessive coughing fits that seemed to deprive him of breathing properly. By mid-April, King Ignatius was bed-ridden, with his advisors and wizard physicians assisting him every hour of every day. Salazar could only watch helplessly as the once robust man was dying before his eyes. He didn't know what to think, seeing the man who once controlled him as weak as his friend Morathi before he died. The man who tried crushing his potions-making dreams, who cruelly punished him if he dared to disobey, and whose fault it was that he no longer kept Penelope's journal. And yet, all the same, this man was his father.

Whether or not he enjoyed that prospect, it didn't matter. Ignatius had been the only family in his life, as much of a twisted role as he played of being his father. Nonetheless, Salazar found it difficult to sleep on most nights due to the hacking coughs from Ignatius and the concerned mutterings of the advisors and physicians. It was the ideal excuse for staying longer and longer in his potions chamber, devising new recipes and mixing ingredients together. As long as he couldn't hear that repulsive sound the next floor down, he would be able to maintain his sanity. Some days, he would forget to eat, but that didn't matter either. His father surely required a great deal more food than he did. Besides, he needed to put this ingredient in this potion and that one, stir it seven times counterclockwise, and get a solid iron gray antidote as the product.

If anything, Salazar became more deeply engrossed with his potions to the point that he finished an entire recipe book within a week. Thoroughly exhausted after such arduous work, he too could often be found in his bed. It was where his father's most trusted advisor approached him one late April afternoon, and he had had no choice but to groggily wake up. His lustrous black hair was a disheveled mess, and the tell-tale bags under his eyes explained just how hard he really took his father's imminent death. He hadn't expected to feel lamenting at all over this.

"Your father wishes to see only you," the advisor informed him. "He has sent everyone else away, so if you wish to see him..."

Impulsively, Salazar instantly rolled out of his bed to briskly stride over to Ignatius' bedchamber. Practically disregarding the advisor in the process, he was set on visiting his dying father. For some reason, he would have the inability to forgive himself if he didn't. As soon as he stepped in, he saw firsthand how much the mysterious illness had taken a massive toll on Ignatius. His skin had become a frightfully sallow color, as white as paper and nearly as translucent. He had lost a considerable amount of weight since he first took to bed rest, judging by his sunken brown eyes and gaunt face. And those eyes lost their vindictive gleam, replaced by a dull glaze. It was doubtless that he would die very soon. Eyes almost closing, he let his hand dangle over the side of his bed.

"Hello, Father," Salazar greeted quietly, still stunned over Ignatius' bedraggled appearance. "You wished to see me?"

His father nodded, replying in a hoarse voice, "Aye. I was tired of those physicians and advisors fretting over me. Death is death. It must come to us eventually."

Cautiously, Salazar perched on the bed, almost intimidated to look upon a face that already resembled a death mask. This could possibly be the only time in which he truly felt pity for this man. His once shiny black hair had turned lank, and the streaks of gray had become more prominent.

"I sent you here because I need to speak with you before I die," he continued in his raspy voice.

The pitying expression that had shown itself on Salazar's face hardened into one of borderline disdain. "What is there to discuss, Father? The manner in which you treated me all these years speaks for itself. There is nothing left to say. I _killed_ her, remember?"

Ignatius' brown eyes dilated for a fraction of a second before wearily closing. "I was deeply shocked and devastated when the midwife told me your mother died. I thought that it had to be someone's fault…Thus, I blamed it on you. Yes, I was a bitter fool to impose that on you, especially with my three-year absence in your life. I thought you were something inhuman."

"Hmph."

How could he be expected to forgive his father now, despite death being so close?

A stony silence cut in between them during which Salazar blankly gazed out the window. There were no new revelations in their conversation so far, he knew that much. If anything, what was known sounded worse to him. Inhuman indeed. What had he been to his father? Some sort of monstrosity that killed its mother from the inside? Pregnancy was such a major risk by itself, much less the birthing of a child.

"Son," Ignatius nearly choked out, verging on desperation. "I was a fool. And I was a horrific father to you as well. To ask for your forgiveness would be asking too much."

His hacking coughs soon followed this confession as he sank further into the bed, weakened from his sign of impending death.

Admittedly, Salazar felt terrible for putting Ignatius through this agony, especially days before dying. However, it wasn't exactly easy to resolve a rivalry that lasted nearly two decades. For, he had always seen his father as a rival who constantly tested him and toyed with him. At times, he most certainly mocked him. Whenever he needed someone to guide him, he received reprimands and orders to retreat to his bedchamber. This apology came too late, and Salazar was all too willing to let his father know that. Rebelliously, he turned his head away from Ignatius, determined to not relent.

A thin hand grabbed his elbow. "Salazar, please. Can you not forgive me?"

"What do you want me to say, Father?" he asked evenly. "Eighteen years of torture surely had to suffice."

Ignatius sighed heavily, knowing that perhaps there really was no changing his son's mind. "I had been trying to shape you to become like me. It seems that I have succeeded in doing so. And I am truly sorry."

"Why? Is this not what you wanted? A wretch as demented and broken as yourself?!" Salazar asked in retaliation, raising his voice out of pure rage. His shoulders started shaking out of all the suppressed anger he held for all these years. He had dared not to raise his voice when he was younger, lest he would have faced severe punishment. Now, he was the stronger one, with his father barely able to speak. He could do whatever he wanted and be able to get away with it. He could be the intimidating one.

His hands tightening on the bedclothes, he shouted, "Settle on what it is that you want from me, _Father_! Now that you have molded me into a man of no feeling, you cannot change me back. You can never change me back!"

With his fury eventually ebbing as he yelled out his frustration, Salazar panted while still gripping the sheets. Sweat dripped down his brow, sliding down his temple. As much as he was relieved that he rid himself of this poisonous feeling, he had the strangest desire to show his father the damage he'd bestowed to him. Hatred pulsed through his veins. No matter their relation, no matter their status, he couldn't stand the sight of Ignatius.

However, imploringly, his father looked up at him, begging for forgiveness and mercy and all the other weak emotions reserved for Muggles. Salazar nonetheless felt conflicted over that facial expression. Was this who Ignatius really was all along?

"No. No, Salazar, I am aware that I failed in providing you a proper upbringing. My grief for your mother's passing overwhelmed me. I convinced myself that...that heartlessness was the only solution. I could not have borne without it."

"Tis no excuse."

"No, I suppose not," Ignatius replied, his voice somewhat shaking. "My one regret has always been my inability to parent you. I have never acted in your best interests."

The brutal honesty was a slap in the face to Salazar, and he stared evenly at him.

Why couldn't Ignatius have been a better father to him? His perception of those Muggles had been permanently warped in part due to the words he heard from his father regarding them. Everything he knew now he had to learn on his own. He could handle himself by being alone, and he didn't mind the solitude. Companionship was infinitely overprized, as far as he was concerned. Though as much as he had resented Ignatius in the past, he had to move forward. And he couldn't possibly stay hateful while his father looked so emaciated and weak.

"Did you truly love my mother?" he asked the one question he truly wanted the answer to.

The normally harsh brown eyes softened with the most warmth ever produced. "More than anything in the world."

So he hadn't been kind to her simply out of an urge to extricate something out of her that could benefit him. He genuinely cared for her and would have given the world to her if possible. At least Ignatius had been so fortunate. Salazar decided long ago that that type of love merely did not exist for him. It remained too far beyond his reach.

"Penelope was the love of my life. She was gentle and kind yet could argue with me quite well. She had spunk, reminded me rather of a candle flame. There was simply this...light...about her."

Shaking his head out of disbelief, Salazar said in deadpan, "You could not love me like a son."

Ignatius' slight smile and twinkle to his eyes fled. "That was never the case, Salazar."

At that moment, there was a stirring inside him, as though he was intensely moved. Yet, he should have been infuriated at such a late confession.

"She would have loved me."

"How...?"

"I found her journal a few months previous. I burned it for fear you would punish me for keeping it hidden. Or, rather, precaution."

And then, his father was reduced to looking like an old man, a man of eighty years rather than his forty. "I cannot say I place blame on you. I have done that too often in the past. You are my son, and I shouldn't have been so vain and selfish over Penelope's death."

"I forgive you, Father," Salazar murmured with the vaguest hint of affection, though lingering.

For once (and the last as far as Salazar could tell) in the whole time he had known him, Ignatius smiled. There was no cruelty and no sharpness there but an honest sincerity.

"Thank you," he whispered, sinking back into the pillows. "That is all I could ever request, my son. And that was why I requested your presence here. Continue on the family name...after I die. Salazar?"

"What?"

"Whatever you do...I no longer recommend marrying...that Irish wench. Her father is a dog."

Salazar's lips twitched upwards in what could have been interpreted as a laughing smile. He assumed that his father had been too blinded by greed not to see through the Irish royals. Once again, he had misjudged.

"Rest, Father," he told him as he stepped toward the closed door. "I will return to visit if you wish."

The smile returned on Ignatius' face. "That will...not be necessary, my son. I have lived my life. Soon, I hope to join her. It shan't be...too much longer."

"But, perhaps you will miraculously recov—"

"No, Salazar. This discussion...It is to be the last, most meaningful one we shall ever share."

That was unjust. He had merely started getting to know the real Ignatius. "I do not understand. I—"

"Hush. Remember what you told me regarding rest?"

Reluctantly, Salazar closed the door behind him, standing numbly for a few brief minutes before walking away.

* * *

The next morning, an advisor awakened him to inform him that his father had died during the night. No hacking coughs had been heard, and he had passed away peacefully in his sleep. Despite the consoling assurance of that much, Salazar still felt that he had been left with nothing. Riches, yes. A powerful title, yes. Every man in the world would have envied him and prepared to fight him for those material possessions that seemed too meaningless. For, in comparison to a father who had gained a change of heart during those last hours of life, these things were indeed positively worthless. Salazar had lost again, and he knew it. That silent spring afternoon had been the closest he ever came to fully understanding his father. Perhaps they would have become closer. Perhaps not.

He would never know.

* * *

**A/N: ****At first, I was going to have Ignatius (Salazar's father in this story) bitter and angry til the end. But, then, as I was writing, things just came out differently, and it turned out that Ignatius wasn't even the one-note villain character. Well, to be honest, guys, there's actually no such thing in this story unless you count Maura and her father. I was surprised at how it came together and how Salazar actually, kind of forgave Ignatius at the end.**

**But, Ignatius died, so...Hm, it's either going to turn Salazar into someone better or worse. Or perhaps a combination of the two. You will have to find out next time. XD**


	13. Godric

**A/N: ****Well, here you go. One huge chapter. XD However, this chapter is a turning point, if you haven't guessed it from the title already. It's going to be quite interesting, I hope, for all of you.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Godric**

Three years had passed since the death of King Ignatius, leaving Salazar to hesitantly take the throne. He had achieved what he always desired since childhood, which was to be in control of his destiny. However, that dream had come true with a price he regretted having to pay, despite the mixed feelings that resulted. Though he attempted to deny this to himself over and over again, he realized the death of his father had deeply shaken him. In the last few minutes of conversation between them, it was the closest they had had to a genuine father-son bond. And that cold, harsh mask of Ignatius' that had been shown more prominently than his own had cracked for the first and last time. Salazar had started to get acquainted with his true father, someone whose heart was once indeed warm.

Or perhaps the sincerity was just one final trick before the entity of death claimed Ignatius. Unfortunately, Salazar was inevitably haunted by this death—the one he thought would least affect him. On the contrary, it thoroughly crushed his spirits, for he had taken a glimpse of what could have been. If only Ignatius had conducted himself like that toward him all his life, not merely moments before death. He felt tragically deprived, more so than during his childhood. Thus, three years elapsed, with him occasionally visiting his father's tomb when not attending to royal duties. From his point of view, being king and ruling over this kingdom of Muggles held no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

His days consisted of heeding advice from Ignatius' most trusted advisors while writing up new laws that were far stricter than his father's. Already in his three-year reign, he had drawn up decrees that made him unpopular. Frankly, Salazar didn't care, for royal politics were never quite in his interests. Longing for those moments in which he could hide away in his potions chamber, he dutifully did what was expected of him as ruling king. But, the heaviest burden that came with inheriting his title was no longer being able to keep in touch with his magical heritage. He couldn't pore over those ancient tomes of spells and potion recipes like he used to. Days swept by as he pondered over where his life was going. The luxurious and sedentary lifestyle of a king could never be suited to his tastes, and he knew it. No wonder Ignatius had despised this, too.

It all came to a head one day when he stared down into the enraged faces of both King Cormac and his irrepressibly social-climbing daughter Maura. They had returned to England with the goal to order Salazar to marry the Irish princess. Prior to this call, he had looked into the matter of her dowry and discovered from an advisor that the so-called royals had been deceptive all along. As fate would have it, they were on their last Galleons due to their frivolous spending on ridiculous things. There was no dowry to speak of, for there hadn't been enough wizard currency set aside. With this in mind, Salazar gave them an icy reception.

"Ah, I see you two have returned to Greystone, as I nearly predicted. You Irish never surrender, do you not?"

He didn't look down disdainfully upon the Irish people as a whole, generally. But, if he encountered one more member of the House of Kieran, he would lose patience forever with that family. He thought his family was pitifully deplorable, what with dark secrets that lurked just beneath the surface. But, the Kierans...He could not even begin.

King Cormac's green eyes flashed irritably. "King Salazar, have you become intoxicated with your power? Your father and I made an agreement. And I intend for you to keep your family's end of the bargain."

"Are you so arrogant to ignore this request?" Maura added, parroting her father perfectly.

There they prattled on with the same, repetitive reasons they had used as explanation last time. They forgot that it was a marriage as well, not only an alliance between two powerful magical pureblood houses. However, the House of Kieran had quickly fallen out of favor with Salazar, and now that he was king, he could follow his resolve without much objection. And he would ensure that he would never see his heartless betrothed and her father again. He tired of them.

"My father never agreed to any conditions, Cormac. He wisely saw through the both of you to your true intentions. I can recall that, on his deathbed, he advised that I not marry your daughter. I daresay I agreed with him."

Composed, he artfully drummed his fingers against the armrests of his throne, expecting fiery reactions.

He watched and waited for their responses, which were rather hard-pressed to come, since both father and daughter appeared shocked beyond words. The king's trembling hands clenched into fists as he defiantly stared at his younger counterpart. There was no indication that Cormac would back down, that much was certain. In the meantime, Maura had pursed her lips in a displeased pout. Over these past four years of reluctant acquaintance, Salazar had learned to despise that expression on her face. She wore it constantly, even when she wasn't angry or upset about something. Now that she felt both of these emotions, Maura forced her lips to practically disappear inside her face. Her ambitions were being crushed.

Finally, after a moment of intensely thick tension, the redheaded princess stood to her full height, glared loathingly at her former betrothed, and hissed, "Liar."

"Aye, this is either a bluff or a tasteless joke, _Slytherin_," her father added, immediately on the defensive as well. "Your dear father surely must have been delusional on his deathbed. His wisdom had probably weakened. I believe that tis doubtless Ignatius became a senile old man."

This insult was the harshest one he had ever heard, one that not only directly attacked his father but his credibility. His family's honor was put into question.

"Do not even dare, _Your Highness_," Salazar replied in just as mocking a tone as Cormac had utilized. "King Ignatius would turn over in his grave if he could hear such idiocy. He most certainly had knowledge of what he confided to me. His advisor further told me that you two are virtually penniless now. Tell me that is a jest."

Diplomacy tactlessly shoved aside, Maura abruptly slapped him in the face. "All falsehoods! What kind of man are you?! We were to rule as one! We were to reign supreme over those Mudbloods and enslave them. Fool! You haven't the slightest idea about—!"

"Enough of this!" he raised his voice, impatient, while gripping the armrests more tightly. "Guards, remove these imposters immediately. No matter how much they struggle, do not relent in keeping them out. I want the both of them out of my sight. Permanently."

Intimidating knights who served in Salazar's guard forcibly escorted the Irish royals out of the castle. King Cormac peered over his shoulder to cast the coldest glare his nemesis' way. His daughter screamed all the way out of the castle, the guards unable to fully subdue her. Her normally cool green eyes seemed to spark flames as she struggled against the grip of two of the knights.

"You will regret this, Slytherin! I will personally see to it!" she cried boisterously, attempting and failing to pry their hands off her.

Bored, Salazar replied to her tonelessly, "And I shall wait until that day comes...wench."

Maura let out a shrill scream before both father and daughter left the throne room for good.

* * *

Later, in the evening hours as the sun began to set under the horizon, the young king contemplated over this pointless circumstance in which he had found himself. It felt as though he had accomplished nothing in his reign so far. The most he had done was to rid himself of King Cormac and Princess Maura, but that seemed so petty compared to the great things he could achieve. The problem was that he hadn't the slightest idea as to what that entailed. A connection existed between him and magic for as long as the tie between him and his royal background. And, after all, he preferred to brew potions, which he was intent on continuing. His decision had been made, he realized as he turned away from his window. It would certainly be a risk for the kingdom, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Especially for himself and his needs.

Discussing this pressing matter with his father's most trusted advisor, Salazar divulged these plans that he had in mind. The advisor was skeptical.

"Abdicate the throne? Unheard of, Your Majesty! It isn't as though I question your judgment—"

"Is it not what you are doing presently, Malfoy?" he stonily asked, his dark eyes glowering disdainfully at Gideon Malfoy. In spite of the fact that he was pureblooded and his father's personal favorite, Salazar didn't much care for the man. Malfoy, though of exceptional ability and keen mind, was far too eager to please others. It was easy to see that he had obtained his position solely based on the amount of Galleons he bestowed. He climbed up the social ladder, and Salazar normally didn't get along with such a shameless type of person.

Malfoy sniffed upon hearing this rhetorical question, somewhat taking offense at it as a direct insult concerning his advice. "And who is to take your place?"

Salazar raised a brow. "Certainly not you. Choose someone worthy of ruling this kingdom. I no longer have any interest or wish to remain at Greystone as king. I will relinquish my title as of the morrow...or perhaps as of this moment."

Pacing around the chamber that was reserved for meetings, Malfoy restlessly raked back his blond hair. The king could sense that he was at a loss as to how to proceed. But, he was the main advisor—the right hand man—so he would have to make the decisions on his own. Though it was an abrupt resolution on Salazar's part to abdicate, this was what he desired.

Freedom had always been his foremost goal. He didn't care where he would go or what he would do, but anywhere would be a vast improvement from Greystone. It had been a castle that held too many agonizing memories and too many tortured ghosts drifting about the corridors. Most of all, he suffered from boredom here every day now when he never used to.

After the pause in conversation, Malfoy hesitantly submitted, "Very well then. I will choose someone suitable to rule in your stead. But, what is your intention—if I may be so bold—Your Majesty?"

"Travel. That is all I want for the present. I am thankful that we could discuss through this matter," Salazar said emotionlessly, true to his apathetic, detached nature.

His advisor shrugged nonchalantly, caring very little for his superior's departure, considering the powerful position he had been left with. However, he was admittedly quite disappointed that he wasn't appointed the acting king. He felt the poignant sting of shame, yet he ultimately chose not to dwell on it further. "As am I, Your Majesty, most honorably. I wish you the best of luck."

The now former king frostily inclined his head. "And to you as well, Malfoy...however little of it you deserve."

A certain smug expression plastered on Malfoy's face faded, replaced by a grimace as he stalked out of the room. Salazar watched, smirked contemplatively, and gazed out the nearby window, to the stars.

* * *

For the next two months, Salazar set off on the solo adventure of his dreams that didn't really take much into consideration. He was alone but very much content with that particular aspect. The only companion he shared his travels with was a midnight black steed he called Midnight, appropriately. Admittedly, he knew that his horse was most likely the first living thing he cared for. Morathi...That deplorable snake had had a negative influence on him by warping his already demented mind. Fortunately, he wasn't fluently horse-tongued, so Midnight was ever silent. It wasn't merely his horse's company that made him feel satisfied. His journey definitely exceeded that of the destination. His freedom proved to be very precious to him, more valuable than wizarding currency.

Wind blew through his hair pleasantly as he could smell and even taste the spring breeze. Nearly every day was excellent riding weather. Never had Salazar experienced this intoxicating feeling of liberation, breaking away from every restraint that had bounded him during his life. He was allowed to roam about the country and to see the sights that quite intrigued him. Fields of wildflowers swayed with the rhythm of the breeze, with all sorts of bright colors such as blue and violet and yellow. There was so much to explore that he could barely wrap his mind around it. Luck had come to him at last, after so many years of losing. Now, he had given up his royal title to taste life for the first time.

This aimless journey was interrupted by a raging rainstorm one night that drove him fatefully to an inn called The Dancing Hag. Salazar sighed from relief once he saw the sign through the pouring rain, the sign depicting a silhouette of a witch appearing to dance a jig. He was thankful that it was an inn set aside for the magical folk. If it had been an ordinary mortal inn, he assumed that he would have looked a great deal more conspicuous. Though he kept his wand tucked away in the folds of his dark gray cloak as usual, he could be caught unaware by an overly intelligent Muggle. Then again, that would give Muggles in general far too much credit. After he led his horse to the stables, he darted quickly into the building before the rain worsened as well as to avoid too many Muggles noticing him.

He refused to die by turning into ashes on a stake ignited by those filthy, lowly Mudbloods who were so barbaric, so far behind in terms of innovation. Warily, he searched through the tavern part of the inn to ensure no outsiders were drinking there. It wasn't as though it was a conspicuous place, but Salazar remained ever watchful right until he seated himself on a stool.

"One firewhiskey," he half-commanded the barman before someone else sat next to him.

"Make it two firewhiskies, my good man!" a boisterous, confident voice (tinged with a strong Scottish brogue) boomed. This voice almost instantly annoyed Salazar to no end. Why was this man acting as though they were already acquainted? He hadn't even met him in this village.

Sighing, he peered over at the strange man who seemed to ooze confidence and openness just by being at this inn. The man had disheveled long red hair that reached his broad shoulders as well as a beard and bright green eyes. He appeared to be the stereotypical definition of handsome with dented chin, perfectly straight-toothed grin, and those twinkling eyes. Normally, Salazar tended to avoid people like this, dismissing them as entirely vapid and ignorant.

Masking his severe irritability, he inquired in his flat tone, "Prithee, what is your name?"

"Ah, I'm most happy you asked, good fellow. I'm Godric, Godric Gryffindor."

The man held out his hand, which Salazar refused to take. "I see."

"And what is your name?"

"None of importance."

Instead of looking affronted (as Salazar purposely meant to offend), Godric laughed out of surprising good nature. "Come now, you asked for my name. Why not give me yours?"

Coolly, Salazar replied, "I am an intensely private man, Gryffindor. Wherever I go, I prefer to be anonymous and unacknowledged. I see this is the opposite in your case."

Before the man could respond, the barman set down two mugs of the requested firewhiskey. "There you be, gentlemen. That's five Knuts right there, that is."

Rummaging through his traveling satchel, Salazar was prepared to pay for the drinks when Godric slammed the five copper coins onto the table. "Thank you kindly, sir."

The former king took great offense to this generous act. "I could have easily paid the cost myself."

Godric's grin (that appeared too confident verging on self-absorbed, according to the always skeptical Salazar) slid off his face as easily as it had come. In its place was a pensive expression that looked exceptionally odd on his face. With a studious glance at this new acquaintance, he appeared to be assessing him, judging whether he was friend or foe. While sipping his firewhiskey that warmed him after running through that horrific storm, Salazar surreptitiously looked back. He would have considered that Godric's answer would be quite clear to him. As he himself was well aware, he was not the most trustworthy, reliable person. He yearned to be his own master and perhaps the master of others. He could utter devastatingly withering statements without batting an eyelash. As a man, he was cold and callous.

After a silence in which the two men stared each other down, Godric remarked more seriously, "You are a prideful man with quite a past. It has shaped you into what you are now. But, you do realize it doesn't define you. Do you not?"

Still cautious, especially since this observation was expertly thorough, Salazar put his Legillimency skills to use. "You wish to become acquainted with me. You are interested in what I have to disclose to you in friendly—" he inadvertently winced at that word—"conversation. I am surprised that you realize it will be a tedious, gradual process."

Godric grinned again. "Ah, you must be a Legillimens."

"With applied practice comes great skill, Gryffindor."

Nodding in agreement at this wisely put statement, Godric took a swig from his mug of firewhiskey. "I only recognized that trait because my mother is accomplished at Legillimency. Sometimes, she concludes at what point I'm coming to before I even attempt to speak at all. An amazing witch, my mother. My father equals her in skill but not in Legillimency."

He chuckled afterwards while Salazar glared at him, feeling a pang of jealousy in the process. Godric Gryffindor was obviously a man who enjoyed every last minute of his life and had been raised in a close, happy family. Could they be any more different? As contrasting as night and day…This made Salazar quite unsure of the man next to him.

Bitterly, he nearly splashed himself with the warm potable as he took a long drink from the mug. In fact, he had almost emptied it in that single draught. He then sighed heavily just as Godric gave him a concerned glance.

To explain himself, he clarified, "I am not a heavy drinker by nature. Tis been a long day traveling for me and—"

"I think I understand. We must come from different backgrounds, surely."

"Are you suggesting I'm bitter?"

Godric wryly chuckled. "No, not at all. You seemed distant when I recalled my parents."

Salazar looked down at his mug again. "I prefer not to divulge."

Sympathetically, this man who seemed to welcome him with open arms once he'd stepped into the inn patted him on the shoulder. "Aye, aye, but remember what I said regarding not allowing your past define you?"

"You make a fair point." Salazar drank the remainder of his firewhiskey and, after this pause, he added, "My name...is Salazar Slytherin."

"Hm...House of Slytherin, I venture?"

"Aye…I have relinquished my title."

"Excellent!" Godric ran his hands through his dark red hair as his eyes flashed excitedly. He sounded quite enthused over this bit of news, though Salazar was at a loss as to why.

It all became more understandable when Gryffindor told him, "I have been searching for another wizard and another witch to help me with this idea I have mulled over in the past. Not just an ordinary witch and wizard—no—but the two best and brightest for many leagues. I have already found one witch. You see, I wish to dedicate a wizardry school to teach future generations. Two wizards and two witches (for fairness' sake, after all, there ought to be women teaching here as well) should be sufficient to realize my dream."

"Who is the witch?"

"Helga Hufflepuff, an old, dear friend of mine. She would be delightful with children, and she can transfigure a teapot into a frog within seconds."

"Most of all," Godric added as a sort of afterthought. "She is a renowned gardener where she lives. But, she has resolved to teach transfiguration nonetheless. As for you—well—I came to this inn to escape that wretched weather outside, saw you, and my instincts told me that you will prove to be a valuable addition. What is your specialty, Salazar?"

Salazar smirked imperceptibly. "Potions. I daresay it is the one thing I am most proud of."

"I knew my instincts wouldn't fail me," Godric remarked, pointing right at him as though he was going to choose him to be a master all along. Which, the former king admitted to himself, was likely what the determined man had set out to do in the first place. Shockingly, he didn't mind being recruited to such a position. Passing on his knowledge to young minds would go far.

After all, though he hadn't received formal training (or hardly training of any sort) to become adept at the magicks, he could aid the younger generations. Of course, he would only pick the craftiest, most skillful students. Handpicking was what Slytherins did best. And he would be in an important position that was actually useful instead of acting as the primary figurehead for a kingdom. The possibilities of what he could accomplish as potions tutor—no, _master_—were endless.

Eventually, Godric interrupted his eager thoughts. "I wonder...Do you know of any skilled witches?"

The barely visible smirk on Salazar's face vanished as a beautiful face appeared in his mind yet again.

It was practically uncanny, how she was remembered at the most opportune of times and rather conveniently, too. But, was he willing to actually work with her? He pondered it over carefully in his mind before deciding that it wouldn't matter. Besides, he was starting to...tolerate this Godric fellow, so he would cooperate with him.

"I know of only one whom I have small acquaintance with. Though I have never seen her cast a spell, she is certainly very clever. Not as clever as I, of course, but she will provide you with what you require of an intelligent witch."

He didn't notice that Godric had ordered two more firewhiskies until now. "Then, we have our fourth personage, Sal. And I would like to propose a toast for luck. To our school."

"Indeed." Salazar took the proffered mug and drank heartily from it.

* * *

**A/N: ****Right, guys, I thought I'd include a Malfoy ancestor I made up in here. It was basically to show how the Malfoys even back then (my theory anyway) were willing to serve anyone who was powerful. Kind of makes them look like kiss-asses, doesn't it? XD And for some reason, I always imagined Salazar and Godric first meeting at an inn. Kind of Lord-of-the-Rings-y, if you get the reference.**

**I loved writing Maura and Cormac out of the story. That was the most epic thing. Ever. Bit overdramatic, yeah, but it's to show that Maura's all talk, not really too keen. She will be gone from the story for good now, so you can all breathe easy.**

**Now, I put what Salazar suggested for a fourth founder in there for obvious reasons...Hm...XD**


	14. Departure

**A/N: ****This is just sort of a filler-ish type of chapter, so hopefully, it won't be too boring. By the way, I know I made Rowena a wee bit emotional in this chapter, but hopefully not too much.**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Departure**

A falcon soared the summer skies with its wings stretched to their full span as it searched for food. Its amber eyes sharpened upon thinking that it spotted something in the distance. A mouse perhaps? A frightfully scurrying rabbit? Disappointed, it realized that its peripheral vision tricked it. Submissive over not finding anything (at least for the present), it calmly descended toward the ground. Most pointedly, it looked for the shiny leather of a certain hawking glove.

"You did not catch anything, girl?" Rowena asked of her animal companion. "Hmph, odd, I would have expected the mice to be thick this time of year. Ah, never you mind. I'm honestly not overly fond of your gifts, but do not think me unappreciative of your efforts."

Nonetheless, her pet falcon Selene (named after the Greek moon goddess) looked up at her reproachfully and let out a cry of protest. She worked extremely hard to hunt for these rodents to bring to her mistress. It was a shame that this gesture of loyalty was misconstrued. Rowena still smiled at her and thoughtfully stroked her feathers that were ruffled from the very slight breeze.

"Hm, no need to excite yourself over what I said. I told you I appreciated the thought behind it. However, we humans have other methods with which we express affections for one another. Now, allow me to put you away for the day."

Selene squawked, this time out of contentment, and remained perched on her beloved mistress' hawking glove. Rowena hummed a song as she walked over to the recently built aviary, a small outbuilding set aside for not only her falcon but Lucrecia's falcon Artemis. It was to keep with the Greek goddess theme the sisters had in naming their pets. The Ravenclaws had always expressed an interest in ancient mythology as well, for most of the witches and wizards from that age had been highly influential to the ones currently living. Magic had been passed down for centuries, perhaps even before the time of Greek and Roman mythology. Reflecting on this history, Rowena still merrily hummed while putting Selene away. She liked falcons and considered them to be vastly intelligent creatures.

And hawking had become yet another favorite hobby of hers over the past two years. Lucrecia had gotten her addicted to this captivating sport. Perhaps it wasn't much of a sport, launching her falcon into the air and watching it soar across the skies, but it was interesting to observe. There was a sense of power that Selene carried with her as she hunted for her next meal. It almost inspired Rowena to stop being so timid and start becoming powerful in her own way. But, not in the sense of either wealth or rank—a kind of power that could be used to benefit other people, not just herself. She could act as a sort of humanitarian if she became a lady after her mother. She always believed that everyone living on this earth had a purpose to fulfill. Possibly, she could play a role that was specific to her.

Rowena lovingly stroked her falcon's feathers again before turning away to leave the small hut that was similar to a stable in size. A good book would serve her well in order to preoccupy her mind for the rest of the day. In the dip of the nearby valley, where the sun shone brightest, would be the ideal place to read. She liked warm grassy spots to sit with, of course, those vivid violets of which she was particularly fond. Just as she prepared to walk leisurely back to the castle, she was surprised to see her sister practically running inside the aviary.

"Lucrecia, what is causing you to dash in here so quickly?" Rowena asked, concerned that perhaps something urgently wrong had occurred.

Instead of this needless fear for the worst, Lucrecia pressed a piece of parchment into her hand. "Owl post has arrived from a barn owl, it would appear. This letter is addressed to you. I cannot recognize the seal…But, tis from a Godric Gryffindor. A very unfamiliar name to me…although it must be the name of a leader."

"Ah, really?" Her interest suddenly piqued.

"He _surely_ must be. I suggest you read it. Who knows what news this is, Ro?"

"I would not. Not even my diadem could help me know."

Her elder sister rolled her eyes and patted her on the shoulder. "For Merlin's sake, Ro, you need to stop putting all your faith in that trifle diadem. It's only an heirloom."

Yet why did she feel exceedingly clever when wearing it?

Rowena merely smiled and shook her head in response before lifting the letter toward her face to read it. Unfortunately, she had to squint due to the rough, scrawling handwriting that clearly belonged to a large-handed man. As she continued reading, however, an excitement filled her.

_To Lady Rowena Ravenclaw,_

_A friend once recommended you to me nearly two years ago, and I haven't forgotten. I was told that you were a clever witch, perhaps one of the most intelligent of our time. As a man who wishes to realize his dream, I could not bypass such an opportunity in terms of selecting someone thus skilled. Allow me to give a proper explanation, so as not to confuse you or mislead you regarding the goal, the dream, the ambition I possess. For four years, I have mulled over the idea of opening a school to children who wish to become witches and wizards. As I hope you are already aware, many fledglings have not been sufficiently taught in the ways of magic, save for the fortunate few. I myself was tasked with the responsibility of tutoring my four younger siblings at a certain castle home in the moors of which I am most fond._

_Regardless, over these four years, I have found two people who have agreed to be teachers at this witchcraft and wizardry school. One is a friend I met during my younger years, Helga Hufflepuff. The other is the friend who recommended you and requests to remain anonymous. I propose you this. If you accept my offer, I will send Helga to Eaglewood to fetch you. I have decided that a school will be established not too far from the very moors of which I spoke. I would come for you myself, had not the unnamed friend and I been so preoccupied with other pressing matters. The school shall be nearer Scotland, rather than England. It is less populous thither. Please send your reply through my owl as soon as you are able. I most ardently hope you accept my offer._

_Sincerely, _

_Godric Gryffindor_

Her hands trembling out of exhilaration, Rowena stared up reverently from the slightly crumpled piece of parchment. With these written words, her life had instantly changed from something ordinary to something incredible. The receiving of a proposal of giving young aspiring witches and wizards the tutelage they needed was such an unbelievable honor to her. She wondered who the mysterious person was who recommended her to this Godric Gryffindor. She would like to thank him or her.

Out of curiosity, Lucrecia peered over her shoulder toward the letter, assessing Rowena's reaction as well. "Good news?"

"This Gryffindor fellow wants me to teach at a school dedicated to witchcraft and wizardry! It has yet to be built, but this is certainly an opportunity. Someone—a friend of his—recommended me specifically to him. Tis a marvelous honor to be selected."

"This is your true calling then, Ro. You will be wonderful with children along with making use of your magical gifts and talents. You are needed. Accept."

Rowena grinned broadly. "No need to reiterate it to me. Where is his owl?"

The barn owl that perched on the edge of Lucrecia's windowsill appeared to be losing its patience by the time the two sisters arrived there. It flapped its wings and hooted out of frustration as Rowena used one of Lucrecia's pieces of parchment to write her relatively brief response.

_To Godric Gryffindor,_

_I accept your offer most willingly. I, for one, believe that your idea is not only innovative but truly ingenious. I would love nothing more than to properly teach young witches and wizards. To pass on knowledge to them is imperative in keeping magical people as a whole living throughout many more centuries. I am aware that we live in a time of fear and persecution. But, we cannot allow that to stop us in aiding the next generation. I hope you send your friend Helga here as soon as she is at leisure. I am eager to meet her, you, and the person who recommended me to you. You have my utmost gratitude for presenting me with this opportunity._

_Rowena Ravenclaw_

"Will you not be patient?" she lightly scolded the thoroughly vexed owl that calmed down just long enough for her to tie the sealed message to its leg. It soon flew off urgently, with its wings flapping swiftly.

"I can only hope that that Gryffindor is neither as aggressive nor as short-tempered as that owl," Lucrecia remarked, chuckling amusedly.

"He won't be," Rowena replied brightly, staring off in the distance where the owl was but a speck. "Judging from his letter, he seems to be a generous man with a warm heart."

* * *

She stared into his beautiful light green eyes rather apprehensively as she awkwardly situated her hands on her lap. How was she to announce to him that she would be leaving here soon? Not just Eaglewood but the vicinity entirely—she would travel out toward Scotland to seek her fortune while he, as a villager, would stay behind. Over the past five years, their romance had hardly burned out. Yet, after Slytherin's birthday ball, it had been very subtly less passionate. Though still tender (for she cared for Devon immensely), she wondered if she could ever be his. As youths, first love tasted sweet for the both of them. Regretfully, Rowena thought with a heavy heart, it had run its course. She would forever value their friendship nonetheless.

More painfully still, she could tell that Devon was aware of the change that would divide them. She then broke their intense gaze, praying that he wouldn't see her tears.

"You are departing for Scotland?" he asked for clarification, as though he was wishing that this heartbreaking moment wasn't real.

Rowena inclined her head. "Aye. It will be such a valuable opportunity not only for myself but for wizardkind as well. I know that, perhaps, it may seem selfish of me—"

"No." He tightly squeezed her hand. "It is likely the best decision you have ever made. For, you are wise. You always make the best decisions."

She smiled, which caused Devon to smile back, and her heart couldn't help but melt at seeing it again. He was certainly a good person. And she would forever remember him as the best friend that she had ever acquainted herself with. Perhaps once she helped with setting up the school, she could try to promote harmony between Muggles and magical folk, so that they could peacefully co-exist. Someday, she hoped, the Muggles would realize the error of their ways and cease the stake burnings and torturing of their magical brethren. No good would ever come out of conflict. Her friendship with Devon proved that a life without bigotry was possible. It had stood the test of time, ever since they were children.

Sadly, her heart already hurt enough with the prospect of leaving her beloved parents, sister, and pets, despite the need to set off on her own. However, leaving Devon would be the most difficult obstacle to overcome. Her smile fading, she struggled to hide her tears with shaking hands. Even if there was no longer a romance, she would miss him terribly. As though reading her mind, Devon embraced her, his gentle warmth comforting her. Rowena prepared to say something but fretted that she would crumble right before his eyes. And she still had her pride.

"All is well," he whispered in her ear. "As long as you return, whether it be in two years or twenty, I shall be content."

After emitting a loud sniff, she broke their embrace while hurriedly wiping away the tears leaking from her eyes. "I know. It is only so poignant that I have to leave Eaglewood for an extended period. My family, you...It is difficult and a bit trying, I allow. I must do as I will, however."

"Yes. I understand. But, those children will be dependent on you, Rowena."

She smiled wryly. "So I have been told. I will miss you, Devon, my friend."

Somewhat disappointed that they reverted back to mere friends, he reluctantly released her from his gentle hold. "And I you. Why are we no longer—?"

In order to hush him, Rowena placed two fingers to his lips. Her wound from realizing what needed to be explained was still fresh, and judging from his question, he could feel the shift just as acutely as she did.

"Something happened. I do not wish to explain what twas but...It affected me—us—more than I presumed. You have every right in the world to blame me. I let this altercation interfere and now...I sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart."

Devon smiled at her before standing to his feet. "How can I blame you? We were friends before lovers, and it appears as though that shall remain. I am unoffended, truly I am."

As she stood up in turn, Rowena clasped his hands. "Then, I bid you a fond farewell, Devon."

A simple silence was what they allowed to come between them, giving them one last pause for thought. It was amazing how fourteen years had managed to pass so quickly to the extent that it made them wonder if it had truly been that long since they first met. And now that they had to say goodbye for who knew how long, it made Rowena's parting far more poignant. Together, the two of them had experienced quarrels and kissing, anger and love. After the conclusion of this romance, however, things were sure to settle down considerably.

With his green eyes softer than she'd ever seen them, he murmured, "I wish you all the best, Rowena."

It hurt that she must lose him in love for the sake of friendship, but Rowena resolved to put a brave face on the situation. She gave him one of her winning smiles before walking back toward Eaglewood.

* * *

When an unfamiliar gold carriage pulled up near the pathway leading to the castle the following afternoon, Rowena couldn't help but feel an excited tingling up her spine. This would be the beginning to a new chapter of her life, and she welcomed this incoming phase with open arms. She would be teaching students with fellow colleagues with whom she was confident she would be on happy terms. Godric Gryffindor was quite courteous and warm to her through his entreating letter. Now that Helga Hufflepuff had appeared to arrive, she was curious to meet the one other female in their exclusive group in person. Perhaps she could relate to her in a way that exceeded that of her male counterparts. First, before she could even think to meet with Helga, she would say goodbye to her family.

Throughout all her life, each member of her family supported her and her magic by teaching her the spells and the perfect movements necessary for her wand to work properly. They had praised her when she did well and gave her constructive criticism at times when her efforts weren't as impressive. Most of all, the Ravenclaws were extremely close-knit and loving toward one another with such fierce loyalty. These values were what Rowena had been raised on; frankly, she was confident that she would be the best she could be in part due to her strong, familial upbringing. She would especially not disregard the lessons in toleration she had learned from an early age. If only the majority of Muggles could follow their just example.

Upon descending the stone steps toward the bottom floor for the final time, Rowena could sense wet tears welling up in her eyes once she saw her family assembled to send her off. It was truly a touching moment, to fully know how much she meant to them and them to her. She soon took turns embracing each and every one of them.

"I will miss all of you...so very much," she told them fervently before turning away to wipe her eyes.

Her sister gently patted her on the shoulder. "And we will miss you. But, we are all aware that this is the greatest opportunity for you. Do not let it slip from your grasp."

"Well said, Lucrecia," their mother heartily agreed. "We are absolutely elated that you can teach these children magical skills for their futures. What a way to use your talents!"

Lastly, Lord Vincent Ravenclaw stepped toward his (though he would not admit this for the sake of keeping the family peace) favorite daughter to simply look at her. She was no longer that bright-eyed little girl who was curious about every little thing in the world. Though she had grown into an inquisitive young woman, her curiosity seemed far more contained than it had been. Now she was prepared to depart from Eaglewood for an admirable position, and he couldn't be prouder of her.

"My daughter...founder of a wizardry school." He smiled dotingly at her. "If there was anything more suitable for you, I for one would be unable to think of it."

"Thank you most kind, Father," Rowena expressed her immense gratitude, returning her beloved father's smile. "All of you have always been support for me, and I will be forever grateful to you for that. I will send letters through owl post, by my troth."

"We will trust your word, Ro," Lucrecia replied before Rowena was escorted by the carriage driver to Helga Hufflepuff's personal carriage. As they walked on the drawbridge, she took a fleeting glance back at her home and all its memories. From the library to the great hall to her bedchamber, it seemed as though these rooms could possibly hold traces of her previous life. Now, staring at that beautiful golden carriage shining in the sun, she realized that this was her freedom, her life's work to help children. And she was more than willing to move on to this new phase.

* * *

**A/N: ****I looked on HP Wiki last week, and apparently, I'd gotten Rowena's physical description all wrong. Then again, I thought black hair and dark eyes would be too harsh a look on her. And I'm very stubborn about sticking to my vision, so it's too late to change it now anyway. Oh well. Hm, so Devon turned out to be a side character, as he was supposed to be initially anyway.**

**Hm, off to Scotland (or close to it) Rowena goes. What will happen? **

**3/11/14: "By my troth", for those who don't know, is similar to "by my oath" or "by my faith." Basically means "I promise." Thought I should change that last phrase to make it sound more old-fashioned. **


	15. Planning

**A/N: Happy Christmas Eve, everybody. Hopefully, you guys have a good Christmas too. I decided to update this before the big day. Here goes.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**3/12/14: Sigh. I'll probably have to go around and change every usage of "miss" to "lady", since "lady" was used back in the day…I wish I'd had a faster computer back then to do all this background research more efficiently…Luckily, it's never too late to fix mistakes on here.**

* * *

**Chapter 15: Planning**

Bowing to her (which Rowena thought was a wee bit unnecessary), the carriage driver proceeded to open the door to allow her to step inside. A redheaded woman, whom for a moment she believed was related to that frightful Maura girl from a few years ago, sat patiently inside and smiled warmly at her as a greeting. Relieved, Rowena smiled back before settling herself comfortably inside.

"Rowena Ravenclaw, I am most pleased to finally gain your acquaintance," Helga told her, clasping her hand in a friendly gesture. "The men have been speaking of you quite often in the past fortnight."

Unsure of what to say, Rowena responded with, "Ah, well, tis nice to be remembered, I'm certain."

As the carriage driver flicked the reins to set them on their way to an unknown destination, Helga laughed joyously. "For one so intelligent, you are far too modest! As the intellectual of our founders four, you could never be forgotten in two years' time. Do you not know what your inclusion entails?"

"I am sure I do not, Lady Hufflepuff."

"Lady? So polite as well! But, prithee, do call me Helga."

"Helga, then. Why has it been two years since I first received Godric's letter?"

Waving a dismissive hand, Helga said, "Oh, the letter. The simple explanation is that the other two had started building the castle."

How odd, extremely unheard of for wizards to partake in manual labor, especially in regards to structuring a castle. It clearly would take more than a petty two years to build one from the ground up, she reasonably concluded. Why couldn't they have selected a preexisting castle instead? It would have saved far more time and energy.

"How could they possibly build it in so quick a manner?"

"Hm, it appears as though you neglect to recall that magic can do more than mere small spells alone." The redhead smiled. "It can expedite the castle building process more than you would assume. Tis almost finished. All we need to do is add protective and concealing charms, so that no Muggle eyes will see it."

That certainly answered the many questions that had crowded Rowena's head.

After all, the problem with the mingled fear and hatred from Muggles that often accompanied witches and wizards had only worsened with time. As much as she personally hoped that it could be resolved, persecution still spread rampant. More stake burning, more floating tests happened increasingly more every day. It was disconcerting to hear about; Rowena felt that perhaps if parents of Muggle students found out their children were being taught magic, it would add fuel to the fire. There would be so much rage from the peasants that all four of them could die.

"Still...why not have the school established at one of our castles?" she inquired, dubious over how a castle invisible to Muggle eyes would be sensible. Surely, there would be a faux pas in that circumstance. What if magic couldn't cover everything sufficiently enough?

However, Helga didn't seem too fazed by this question as she solemnly explained, "It is known well where each of our homes lie. Indeed, one of the men in particular no longer lives in his castle, for circumstances beyond his control forced him out. Or so I am assuming. He does keep to himself, though Godric appears to draw him out, in a sense. Nonetheless, if some Muggles do become enraged for us teaching their children magic, we do not want them to know our location. We can only pray that, with time, if these children can learn to be tolerant, persecution would cease to exist. Thus, this school has to be kept a secret."

Rowena nodded. "I understand. That is most reasonable."

"It was mutually agreed upon by the three of us at the time."

Glancing out the window, Rowena noted that they were currently somewhere she couldn't recognize, far from Eaglewood and the underlying village now. A pang hit her suddenly, right where her heart was, a feeling of homesickness. Perhaps she would send an owl to her family as soon as she reached their destination.

"I cannot help but miss my home already," she told Helga in a detached, airy sort of manner, gazing longingly at that open blue sky that reminded her of childhood days. She could see herself small again in her mind's eye as she would laugh and run about carelessly in the fields. Of course, it also made her remember the sweet violets she so loved and out of which she would craft necklaces.

Out of sympathy, which Rowena very much valued in a companion, Helga assuredly patted her hand. "Ah, I completely comprehend your feelings. My home lays several leagues away from hither, near the eastern coast of Wales. It was an inviting place when I was young. Five brothers and sisters, I counted as my cherished friends. Oh, I would quarrel with them—frightfully so—but twas a comfortable childhood, very warm family and all."

"Nearly like mine," Rowena said with a relieved smile. "Smaller, to be sure, but my family—"

"Oh, fie, and I should have introduced myself to them, too! Twas very impudent of me."

"Do not fret, Helga, I was aware that we had to make haste."

Still distressed, she smoothed down her skirts. "I suppose it was a necessity."

After this rather interesting conversation they shared so far, Rowena could safely say that she honestly liked Helga Hufflepuff. She seemed to be a kind, soft-hearted person who had everybody else's best interests at heart. There was a motherly air about her that was quite pleasant, especially if the school was to be a home away from home for their students. If Helga was worried, it was concerning whether she offended others or not, the kind of fussing over that Rowena's own mother often did. Essentially, she had a large, caring heart that could encompass everybody she met. She was the type of woman Rowena wanted to be but simply wasn't. The cool rationality she possessed prevented her heart from becoming so open.

Despite their slightly contrasting personalities, the two women amicably talked of anything and everything during their long carriage ride. These topics ranged from childhoods to family to friends to magical interests. Helga loved transfiguring different objects but loved bizarre magical plants even more. She gushed over the garden she had grown at her childhood castle home, smiling fondly over screaming mandrakes among other vicious flora. Though Rowena smiled and nodded in return, she found it strange that her friend would think of mandrakes as being adorable, precious creatures. Personally, she remembered seeing an illustration of one in a book she read about magical plants and being horribly disgusted at seeing its demented, child-like face. However, she would not criticize something that Helga obviously held very dear to her heart. It would jeopardize their newly formed friendship.

Their talking and becoming acquainted with one another lasted until sunset, when the driver stopped the carriage at their destination. Peering out of her window, Rowena saw a rugged castle off in the distance, with turrets and a moat and the other accoutrements. Yet, this castle appeared extremely formidable and more war-like than ones she had seen before in her life. Was this the place where they were to stay until the school's completion? Out of a mixture of both intimidation and awe, she gulped nervously, afraid to enter.

"Whose castle is this?"

"Oh, tis Godric's childhood home. He generously allowed us two to reside here until the school is finally complete. We would have fetched you sooner if not for that small inconvenience."

Rowena found that reason to be of no inconvenience at all and would have said so thusly, if not for her slow adjustment to this new environment. A wild, chilly wind blew across the thistly moors that gave her curiosity as to the current season. It was certainly never summer in so harsh a setting, so untamed and cutting. Either Godric Gryffindor was a hearty, hale outdoorsman or a horribly cruel man. Then again, the contents of that letter were perfectly friendly and inviting. What was she to worry about? Dismissing her apprehension, she walked across the drawbridge alongside Helga to enter the castle itself.

"They usually can be found by the hearth, reading and such," Helga informed, acting as Rowena's guide.

Yes, this castle from the inside did look like it belonged to a vastly wealthy man, judging by the expanse of the rooms and the decoration. She could hardly believe how many tapestries could be placed in one chamber. Richly woven rugs were lain about on the stone floor. Almost stopping to look around, she was soon dragged away by the enthusiastic Helga toward the chamber with this fireplace.

Helga's blue eyes glowed bright with excitement. "The hearth chamber is the best, most comfortable one in the castle. We hold most of our conversations hither. Hm, though there are so many chambers, I do tend to stray. Godric's voice usually gives me—"

Sure enough, a booming laugh full of mirth could be heard up and down the long stretch of corridor. A more subdued, quiet laugh followed, and the men clearly were having an animated discussion.

"As I was referring to," Helga sniffed, though more amused than vexed. "The sound of Godric's voice, _especially _his laugh, is relatively a fair indication as to where he is in any given moment. He is very much a joyful person."

"Aye, I can tell," Rowena murmured back, holding back her own laughter from the irony of this moment. How strange that Helga mentioned Godric's recognizable voice, only for him to laugh quite contentedly. However...who was the other man laughing along? She was soon to find out as Helga led her to the particular chamber. And holding her breath, she discovered...

She could conclude that a strongly built man with dark red hair was Godric Gryffindor but the other...? No...No! What was his business here?

Surely, the fourth member of their group was paying a visit to his relatives perhaps. _This _man would never lower himself to teaching children magic, if he even liked children to begin with. Undoubtedly, he hated everyone on this earth who lived and breathed. And what was he doing laughing with Gryffindor in the meantime?

"You," she gasped out upon seeing (though still not believing this was real) Salazar Slytherin sitting comfortably in a beautifully crafted armchair.

He smirked. "I."

"You two know each other?" Helga and Godric both asked with much enthusiasm.

It seemed that their new friends enjoyed the prospect that they themselves shared a much more brief history as well. What was there to celebrate? Rowena thought dourly as she pointedly looked away from Slytherin. Fate had been cruel to her for forcing her to meet with him not once, not twice, but three bloody wretched times!

"We have met," Salazar reassured them both before standing. "And it has been yet another few years again, has it not, Lady Ravenclaw?"

She very nearly wrinkled her dainty nose at him. "Indeed, _Slytherin_."

Godric's brow furrowed as he thought over the potential results of these two living in the same soon-to-be school. "I wonder if you two will be able to coincide at—"

"We will," both Salazar and Rowena assured before sneaking curious glances at each other.

"_Accio, wine_," Helga said as she summoned a wine vessel to the small table that stood in the middle of the four armchairs. Ever the peacemaker, she sensed the tension heating up between the female newcomer and the brooding potions master and did not wish for it to escalate. Though it turned out she had nothing to be concerned over, of course, there was still a mingling of confusion and suspicion between the two of them. To Rowena, Salazar Slytherin was constantly unpredictable in his mannerisms, especially toward her. Around everyone else, he perfected his cold, calculating mask that never seemed to slip for even a fraction of a second. Still, she could never forget that moment in time in which he had asked her to dance, and she had impulsively accepted.

The way he touched her...and yet she shuddered at the thought.

Meanwhile, Salazar was caught up in roundabout thoughts of his own as he poured himself a goblet of Helga's imported red wine. Carefully, so as not to catch her eye, he peered over at her and wondered why he suggested her to Godric initially. She was incredibly gifted, true, but also terribly frustrating. There was a certain fire that ignited in her eyes every time she looked at him, a fire that made them light up stubbornly. Perhaps she still despised him, though he could hardly fathom why. Compared to his behavior at age twelve, he had considerably matured. Before Rowena turned her head to look back at him, he averted his gaze to the goblet he held in his hands.

"Regarding the school," he began before this situation could become exponentially uncomfortable. "It is time to cast the final charms on it, I suppose?"  
"Aye, aye, the concealment charms," Godric said calmly, nodding. "I assumed that all four of us would cast them together to ensure that the castle remains hidden. We do not desire for the Muggles to accuse us of worshipping their devil."

Rowena sniffed. "We do no such thing. I fail to understand why—"

"It is most evident, Lady Ravenclaw," Salazar interrupted. "The Muggles are wholly petrified of us because we wield power of which they deny its existence. Have you not been aware of that?"

She could slap him in the face. She would give anything to be able to do something so satisfying.

"Then, there lies the matter of being able to find students to teach. If we cannot succeed in that goal, it will defeat the purpose of us building the school. Especially if the school itself is to be concealed...unless you already have this solution?" she asked of the three of them, ignoring the disdainful look Salazar was giving her. How could he be so icy to her when that certainly hadn't been the case on his eighteenth birthday?

Helga smiled brightly. "Indeed, we do. Godric has already made it so that potential students will see the castle. We will have to call upon their homes in neighboring villages. It will take a considerable amount of time to say the least."

"Likely a few fortnights," Rowena heard Salazar mutter under his breath.

My, he was quite the pessimist this day, she thought to herself as she stared pointedly at him. He merely shrugged and sipped his wine as though nothing happened. Perhaps it was true that whole fortnights would pass to gather the students, she acknowledged silently, pouring some of the sweet wine into her own goblet. There was no need to be so scathing about it. Frankly, Rowena found it hard to believe that this man laughed along with Godric a few short minutes ago. However, he mattered not at present. The school mattered far beyond petty disagreements and sarcastic comments. Sighing, she imagined herself standing in a classroom filled with books while children diligently listened to her teach the lesson.

Even if they didn't listen by passing levitating notes to each other, she thrilled to the idea of having her own classroom and her own set of students. Preferably, she would teach the brightest, most intelligent ones, her kindred spirits.

She focused on their conversation once more when Godric mentioned, "Salazar and I have agreed that each of us should be a head of our own House."

Or, rather, that the brilliant Godric Gryffindor thought this up on his own, and Salazar agreed out of lack of caring. It was odd how the latter could have willingly participated in something that took as much time and effort as this. For a prince, it would have been far too much. Wait a moment...Why wasn't he residing in Greystone, that depressing place where he belonged? She would have to seek the answer for herself later.

Helga put her goblet aside to join in, "Yea. I have decided that Transfiguration would be the best subject for me to teach. As we have settled, we mutually agreed that Godric will teach Defense against the Dark Arts, since he is quite adept at dueling."

"Well, I've had to put defense spells to use in the past. There are very many vile creatures near Scotland, this much I know from experience."

"Hmm...So the moors truly are a barbaric place," Salazar remarked to his friend.

Godric chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "Only as barbaric as you yourself make them out to be, my friend. Returning to our topic, I know for certain that you will be well-suited as potions master. That leaves our newest addition to choose what she wishes to teach."

He and Helga looked at her expectantly, anticipating the discovery of Rowena's talents, ones that she could then easily pass on to her students. She knew what she would teach, but just as she prepared to say it, she caught sight of Salazar staring at her as well. His deep, nearly dark eyes judged her already before she uttered one word. She was irked to no end for an inexplicable reason she could not name. Hmph, well, she would prove that she would exceed at her class far better than he would at his. If he wanted competition, then so be it.

"Charms," she said clearly enough for them all to hear. "I take pride in my charmwork."

Snorting softly, Salazar shook his head, and she didn't care to know why he was this callous.

"And now, most importantly, we have yet to decide on a name for our school," Godric told them all. "Rowena, it has been something that we have clashed over for quite some time. Ha, I have a list of rejected names."

Beaming, Helga suggested, "Hogwarts. How would that serve for a name? It came to me last night."

Godric's eyes lit up instantly. "Now that _is _a name, most certainly. And very much amusing. Rowena, what are your thoughts?"

"A better name I could not have come up with myself, Helga. I most heartily approve of it."

Salazar curtly inclined his head. "It will do."

"Then, Hogwarts will be finished on the morrow."

And thus, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry received its name that very day.

* * *

**A/N: ****My theory was just that they randomly came up with the school name. Don't know. Sorry if it seems sloppy here. This technically isn't a true, in-canon founders fic, so yeah. Ah, so Rowena and Salazar are reunited again! How will it go this time? Next chapter should prove to be rather insightful. Then again, I always say that.**

**Happy holidays, everybody. I've been saying that a lot today, but I can't stress that enough. XD**


	16. A Restless Night

**A/N: ****Here, guys, here's chapter 16. XD This will prove to be a rather interesting clash of the characters here. And I've added some very small details to this chapter after consulting Harry Potter Wikis. My goal after that is not to look at them again, because I keep feeling I'm doing something wrong. Anyway, enjoy this chapter and if you want to, please review.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

**Chapter 16: A Restless Night**

Later that evening, as a hot summer night settled in, Helga led Rowena to the bedchamber that she planned to generously share with her. It was quite extravagantly adorned like the rest of the castle. Assorted rugs lay on the flagstone floor, and a tapestry with the gold and black Hufflepuff family crest (which featured a badger) hung on the wall. A beautiful mahogany bookcase with carved phoenixes stood in the corner. Rowena couldn't stop smiling upon seeing all the tomes that the bookcase contained. The bindings for these books were colorfully appealing to the eye, making them look like new. It felt like Christmas already, arrived six months early. For, as Rowena saw it, books were precious gifts that were to be enjoyed as such. Fascinated by them in particular, she stepped over toward them.

She nearly pulled one out of its place before Helga commented behind her, "I am not surprised that you are an avid reader, Rowena. I myself read from time to time, thus why I brought these with me hither. They looked to be in a sorry state by the time I arrived, and so, I used _Reparo _on them. They appear much improved, do they not?"

Rowena was in such a good mood, she couldn't resist laughing. "Quite. You fooled me, honestly, for I thought you purchased them new."

"Then, my Transfiguration class will benefit," Helga merrily declared.

"I daresay I most heartily agree with that sentiment."

The two women exchanged knowing, happy glances, and then Rowena set about unpacking the few possessions she had brought in her satchel. Even though they were indeed few in number, the sentimental value of each was what she treasured. Her other dresses would be wrapped and sent by owl, her mother informed a week ago. In the meantime, she would enjoy having her favorite books to read along with her family heirloom jewelry. The brooch she had grown to appreciate instead of loathing it as a sign of her maturity. And, of course, she kept the diadem close at hand to hone her sharp mind into something far more exceedingly clever, far sharper than she could possibly dream. From her perspective, her intelligence was her only remarkable trait. Her outward appearance mattered very little to her, for she hadn't much use for her looks.

Charming that diadem—well, it was simple enough to satisfy her craving for knowledge.

Noting the silver diadem her fellow witch held protectively in her hands, Helga took a cursory glance over it. "Oh, what is that? Quite a pretty thing, I might add."

"A diadem," Rowena replied matter-of-factly, looking down dotingly at it. "It has been passed down in the Ravenclaw family for generations. My grandmother gave it to my father to give to my mother as a wedding gift. And, as of recently, it belongs to me. But, it isn't an ordinary head ornament—no, far more important than that. It adds a sort of refined intelligence to the wearer's own."

And she couldn't have been prouder of owning such a valuable heirloom. It meant so much to her to become wise. Without this most cherished possession, she would admittedly be lost.

"Ah, so there may be some power that it holds," Helga said, clearly impressed with it now that Rowena said something. "I own a special cup that I myself created and will cherish forevermore. Tis the golden thing over on the vanity. And perhaps it will be the perfect dish for serving food at our school—for it to be useful, you see."

"Two handles as well? Quite lovely. I anticipate seeing the Hogwarts castle on the morrow when we claim it."

Taking the pins out of her bright red hair, Helga nodded. "I think it quite picturesque. And we will be sure to have much room left over. We've been inside it before."

As both women gradually prepared for bed, they conversed about Hogwarts while brushing out each other's hair. Rowena felt as though she was almost with her sister Lucrecia again.

She hoped to look upon Helga as someone similar to her dear sister as a home away from home. Now that she would soon be permanently settled in the southern part of Scotland, it would have to be post in which she would communicate with Lucrecia and their parents. If Devon was literate, she would have written him, too. Unfortunately, peasants didn't have the luxury of literacy that was offered the wealthy. Besides, she wouldn't be totally lonely in this new location. After all, Helga had been kind to her from the very moment they met. And she could truly say she hadn't come across too many people so amicable in her lifetime. As she heard more about the chambers and towers of Hogwarts from her new friend, Rowena could visualize them perfectly in her head.

After this conversation concluded along with the hair brushing (upon comparing lengths, it was quite simple to see that Rowena had longer hair, something Helga mentioned she envied), they retreated to their curtained four poster beds to change into their nightgowns.

"Good e'en, Rowena," she heard from across the room. "Pleasant dreams."

"The same for you, Helga," she responded before settling in her goose down bed. It was so soft, with various blankets providing the comfort she needed. She wouldn't have exactly wanted to sleep on a hard pallet on her first night away from Eaglewood. For luck, Rowena tucked the diadem under her pillow for reasons of which even she didn't know. Perhaps when some women longed for beauty sleep, she hoped her mind would enhance overnight.

As much as she wished for a calm sleep devoid of any dreams, alas, it was not to be. She dreamed that her family suddenly vanished when she returned to Eaglewood for a Christmas visit. Blinding snow surrounded her, whitening the dreary, bleak landscape where she saw them standing together. Just as she stepped closer toward them, the snow and the wind took them away. Panicked, she screamed out their names before falling through an icy pond that swept her downward. She could swim but not too far out, especially not in this cold. Shivering and almost crying, she resurfaced, gasping for air in spite of the snowflakes nearly suffocating her. She noticed Salazar standing on the shore, emotionlessly staring at her with eyes that showed the most frightening kind of blankness.

"Lady Ravenclaw," he told her haltingly, at his most formal yet also at his coldest. "You can try to outwit me all you wish, but you shall never win against me. I know what you think when you're thinking it. I will always be two steps ahead of you."

Clearing her throat, Rowena looked defiantly into his eyes. "You shall only accomplish that, Slytherin, in your wildest dreams."

"Silence, Ravenclaw," he replied, his voice dark and cruel and hate-filled. "You come from a blood traitor family, your pure blood is tainted, and you are far inferior to me. In every way. I think I have said enough."

He took out his wand, to take her away as he most likely took her family...

Feeling as though the blankets were trapping her, confining her to a prison she wanted to escape, Rowena flung them from her lithe frame. Drenched in a cold sweat, she looked about the room with widened eyes. That nightmare had completely left her petrified with a sense of terror mingled with paranoia. Would Salazar threaten to kill her in real life as well? Did he loathe her that much? She shook her head to forget the thought, since it was entirely senseless of her to feel insecure over his opinion of her. Still...This dream disturbed her out of her wits, and she highly doubted she would be able to sleep any more that night. Putting on her cloak to cover her nightgown out of decorum's sake, she tiptoed over to Helga's bed.

When she peered through the curtain, though, her friend was fast asleep with a content smile on her face. If only she had been so lucky. She quickly braided her hair in front of the vanity before venturing out of their bedchamber. She needed to find the library as a refuge to distract her. Perhaps then—_only _then—would she drift off to sleep again. It took quite some time to find Godric's library, but she assumed it would be further upstairs. When she peeked through a door she selected at random, she walked into her destination. So many bookshelves, so extensive a collection, like at Eaglewood—she was instantly drawn to the place. Casting a _Lumos _spell for the light to be her guide, she wandered down one of the aisles to explore.

Perhaps her obsession with reading material would console her during this urgent time in which certain people were haunting her dreams. So she skimmed titles such as _A Proper Guide to Dragon Care _and _Trolls: A Chronicle of the Least Species _for the sake of occupying her mind. She didn't plan on actually reading anything, not this late at night. At least she discovered her colleague's taste in literature; unsurprisingly, most of the collection comprised of magical creature books. Soon, Rowena walked up and down each aisle (though more tomes were located higher up if one mounted the stairs toward them), browsing and finding some rather interesting titles. Hm, perhaps that nightmare hadn't signified anything at all, as was her usual belief with dreams. For her sake and her family's, she hoped not.

Intrigued by a novel entitled _The Coven Gathering_, she almost removed it from its place on the shelf. She wondered of what it would consist. Perhaps her preferred combination of adventure and romance? How delightful! Ill-fatedly, she was interrupted by a silky baritone.

"Lady Ravenclaw, you have awakened?"

Blast! Turning around, sure enough, she glimpsed the sharply gleaming eyes of Salazar Slytherin assessing her as always. She really tired of him looking at her like that. No, she tired of him in general, with him toying with her for his own amusement. No wonder he played the part of ice-cold villain in her dark nightmare.

"I could sleep naught, Slytherin, although this should be irrelevant to you."

Giving her a nonchalant shrug to suggest his apathy, he replied, "Nor could I sleep for that matter. I was merely reading, not expecting the likes of you to intrude."

"Excuse me for having difficulty sleeping then."

Salazar looked up to meet her already inflamed gaze, realizing that she was more dressed down than was customary for her. He wouldn't dare to admit that he found her appearance attractive at that moment.

Finally, he concluded, "Sarcasm suits you ill."

"As you so see it, nothing suits me or befits me," she retaliated.

A light smirk, quite amused, flitted on his lips. "Perhaps it's the truth, Ravenclaw."

Ravenclaw...He addressed her as such in the dream as well, with a far more sinister connotation. Rowena inadvertently flinched, much to her chagrin, and she hoped that this seemingly all-knowing man wouldn't see it. Unfortunately, he did.

"If you do not mind me asking, what troubles you?" he asked, the smirk slipping from his face.

"I mind considerably, Slytherin. As though I would reveal anything to you! For as long as I can recall, you have been mocking me. Why should I, so to speak, pour my heart out to you or tell you what is on my mind? My mind is my business only, do you understand?"

Her face was flushed—she could tell from the sudden, stifling heat—and tears sprang to her eyes. Why was she so sensitive at the worst of times? Her accursed emotions betrayed her.

Slowly sliding his book aside, Salazar gazed at her with an unreadable expression while she turned away from him. "Nay, I do not."

"Of course you wouldn't," she scoffed. "The great Salazar Slytherin only understands what he wishes to. Do not bother with someone such as myself, mind you."

"Do I detect self-pity in your tone?"

"Why am I even speaking with you? No, I should have left when you acknowledged me."

Rowena planned to do just that at the present moment when he whispered, "Wait."

That tone sounded rather soft for him, so she could not help but be suspicious at the abrupt change. Perhaps he was growing tired and didn't know what he was saying.

Wondering what he could potentially say to alleviate the ridiculously taut tension, she stepped a couple paces toward his table. He analyzed her for the umpteenth time that very day. Oh Merlin, if he was a Legillimens...

"Twas a nightmare, was it not?" he asked tonelessly, yet his eyes spoke volumes.

She sighed moodily, hating the feeling of being caught. "Aye."

"Did it involve...death?"

"...Implied, I suppose."

Salazar coolly picked up his book again. "Then, my behavior to you was most uncivil."

That was it? Perplexed, Rowena perked up one brow.

"Stating the obvious is usually never _your _forte, Slytherin," she calmly told him in response without batting an eyelash. "But, since it is well past midnight, I would assume you would do such a thing."

"If your nightmares troubled you, then who am I to add to your anxiety?" He flipped through the pages as though he wasn't saying anything all that effective. Perhaps he assumed that what he said would fall on deaf ears. However, she was unsure whether this deduction was correct or not. For, she pondered over the possibility that Salazar was displaying a human side he would normally scoff at disdainfully. Eventually, she found herself sitting across from him to analyze him as he had done with her.

His head bent over the yellowed pages of this particularly old book, he was fully absorbed in its contents. His long black hair nearly hid his face in the process. There was something silky regarding those strands that she desired to touch. He was a mystery to her for as long as she had reluctantly known him.

He glanced up from his reading once he felt her light-colored eyes look at him. Why was she so beautiful? Wherever she went, she seemed to light up the room with her presence, and that was exactly what she had. A luminescent presence that glowed, leaving others' to pale in comparison.

"You were in my dream," she murmured to him. "You...You attempted to take my life."

He averted his eyes, uncomfortable with such a bizarre topic. "Of course you would dream that. But, I would never think of doing such a thing."

For some reason, that comforted Rowena with this new knowledge that at least Salazar didn't loathe her to that extent. That nightmare must have been a mere reflection of her anxieties.

"I am thankful, I own, that you do not despise me to that extent. If we are all to coincide together as heads of Houses, then there must be no such animosity."

His face was unmoving and quite stoic as he nodded. "Aye. Aye, you are correct."

In a rare occasion, he could hardly think of what to say to her next that was either insulting or bleakly sardonic. With his friend Godric, he could simply tell jokes that otherwise weren't told. Around _her_, though, he consistently felt a frustrating befuddlement.

Desperate for this agonizing silence to end so that he wouldn't feel this puzzled, he added, "I suppose you wish to avoid divulging the details of this nightmare."

Running a hand through her braid, she wearily sighed. "Yea, thus why I sought out this library. If I close my eyes again..."

Impulsively, he took her hand that now rested against her face. "I understand."

Eyes widened with shock, she made no resistance at staring into his intense gray-green ones that glimmered with the same emotion she saw at the ball.

"Care to reveal the reason why you cannot sleep?" Rowena inquired evenly, pretending that his sudden impulse was just a part of her dream.

Realizing that she had some discomfort over his touch, Salazar released her hand. "I rarely sleep any more."

That didn't surprise her that a man like him would avoid retiring to bed entirely, what with him constantly at work. He even made idle reading look like work. As she stared at him, Rowena remembered what she wanted to ask of him. If he was still prince, he wouldn't be squandering his time devoting himself to Hogwarts. Surely, he must have met a persuasive Godric Gryffindor somewhere during a moment that would change all their lives. How was it possible?

"Why are you not still residing at Greystone?" she inquired, curious to the point that she worried it would drive her mad.

Salazar, recovering from his brash, idiotic impulsiveness from before, calmly looked at her. "I relinquished my title in order to commence traveling. I required the fresh air...for my constitution, you see."

Though he was indeed remarkably pale, he appeared no whiter than usual or sick in the slightest. On the contrary, he looked to be rather hale...and perhaps not hearty, Rowena assumed. She would never consider his smirks genuine smiles, so how was he ever happy? He obviously experienced a wretched childhood.

"What of your father?" she pressed. "Did he object to your traveling?"

This, she learned quickly, was a foolish thing to ask. Salazar glared at her most disdainfully, the severest, harshest one he had bestowed to her all day.

"He died," he said shortly, frostily.

This was quite a shock to Rowena, for she could have sworn that King Ignatius was just as robust as his son. Apparently, his health had taken a sharp decline in a short period of time.

"My condol—"

Cutting in, he sharply hissed, "Spare me. I needn't your pity or compassion. Especially considering your background."

Feeling a surge of anger at such a stinging remark, she shot back, "You are a cold, unfeeling man with no heart. Every time I try to be kind to you, you lash out at me. I haven't the slightest idea what Godric saw in you. But, the Slytherin cunning does wonders, does it not? I bid you good night, though you do not deserve it!"

Once again, Salazar Slytherin had unwittingly hurt her feelings, and once again, she got the last word in. However, instead of reveling in this victory, Rowena felt that she lost all the same.

* * *

**A/N: ****Hm, this moment could either make or break some romance potential here. At first, I thought it was way too OOC of Salazar to do something like touch Rowena again unless it was out of impulse...again. But, she's slowly breaking down his walls, and he's trying to keep them still intact. Looks like he's epicly failing at that. XD You'll be surprised what happens next chapter, though. I know I was surprised when I wrote it but found it much more to my liking than what I had originally planned.**


	17. Occasion

**A/N: ****Hey, guys! I actually updated before Saturday-what a miracle. Barely a week back at school from break, and I had too much homework. Not to mention I pretty much don't like who I ended up with in most of my switched classes. And I've been stressing over homework...and, uh, social issues. Luckily, this is the best part of the week, when I finally get to update something. So, here comes the surprise I mentioned.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the characters.**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Occasion**

It was an innocently posed question, Salazar supposed later as he mulled over Rowena's fiery parting words to him. If so, then why had he become so uncontrollably resentful toward her? Yes, his father's death had had a profound impact on him, but it had nearly been five years since that fateful passing. Perhaps he felt that Rowena was infringing on his personal life with her vaguely irksome questions. Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he suspected that she would try to taunt him after hearing his answer. Most importantly, Salazar realized that he had a reputation to protect, one of not displaying any hint of emotion. He had been dangerously close to revealing himself tonight, and that could not be tolerated. No matter how weary he had been, how bored he had become over his book, he shouldn't have even spoken to her.

Clearly, though, she had been in need of comfort, try as she might to put on calm bravado over her hellish nightmare. That was what struck him the most about Rowena. She always tried to stay fearless and confident without appearing weak. Despite the fact that she wasn't cold (far from it, he considered), she refused to allow other people to see her upset or perturbed in any way.

In that respect, they were very much alike.

This filled Salazar with that sense of puzzlement he felt earlier around her. How could they be so similar yet so vastly different in personality?

Sighing contemplatively, he shoved aside the book about phoenixes he had been poring over. He recollected on how he had longed to touch her and how that translated into taking her hand in his tonight. It had felt so soft, so delicate...nearly exposing the truly vulnerable woman she really was. Would she not be? Her expressive blue-gray eyes entranced him while holding all her emotions. What he glimpsed in those eyes before she stormed out of the library was genuine hurt. He wounded her again. And therein lay the problem. For the sake of maintaining his façade that seemed more than merely that, he pushed her away with his cutting words. If only he had stilled his tongue!

Offending a fellow Head of House, whether it be Rowena or one of the other two, was tactless no matter what the circumstance.

With this in mind, Salazar strode briskly out of the library, forgetting the book resting on the table. He was simply too tired to do anything that night. And that Rowena Ravenclaw persistently haunted his thoughts while he was walking toward his bedchamber that Godric set aside for him. His good friend had seen to it that he received a private room where he could be content with his solitude. Unlike the two women, Salazar often as not preferred very much to be alone. Even with Godric becoming nearly his first real confidant, he couldn't quite truly open up to anyone else. He especially preferred not talking to anybody tonight. He had inflicted enough damage as it was. He slept a troubled sleep that night, thinking only of a beautiful woman...

* * *

"Salazar! Salazar, my good fellow!" a voice yelled, followed by louder than necessary knocking on the door. "It appears as though you have forgotten how momentous this day is to be for us. We must set out for Hogwarts as soon as we can."

Softly groaning out of a mere desire for more sleep, Salazar gradually forced himself up on his elbows. This was why he hadn't bothered with resting in such a long while. He almost always ended up tossing and turning in his bed, even going so far as to throw the bedclothes off him. His nocturnal nature didn't allow him to close his eyes. However, now that it was morning, he struggled to get out of bed. As lethargic as that seemed, he could not help it.

"Very well, Godric," he managed to tell his friend blearily, rubbing his eyes to adjust to the filtering daylight through his window. "I shall be with you all momentarily."

All of them, including Rowena. How he dreaded that moment when he would glimpse those eyes boring resentfully into him. As of yesterday, he wouldn't have cared in the slightest. Why, all of a sudden, would he have a sinking feeling regarding something so trivial? Determined to put the previous night's incident behind him, he opened the door (for he had slept fully clothed, too tired to dress in sleeping attire) to show Godric he was ready. He hoped that he didn't appear too differently than he normally did. Smoothing down his rumpled black hair, he opened the door to find Godric enthusiastic and full of charismatic energy. Salazar was amazed at how perpetual this energy was.

"I thought you had left me to my own devices, Godric," he practically muttered to his friend and colleague, though was honestly surprised that he remained outside his door.

Godric grinned and patted him roughly on the shoulder. "I had to ensure that you would wake, Salazar. You appear extremely exhausted this morning."

"Yea...but I had difficulty sleeping last night."

"Then perhaps you will allow me to suggest spending less time in the library."

Smiling wryly, the dark-haired man replied, "Even there, I cannot escape the cause of my troubled sleep."

Yes, as long as Rowena lived with them, he would daresay that he could never sleep peacefully again. She gave him that kind of trouble like he apparently beset on her.

As a group, they ate breakfast served by Godric's personal servants in the spaciously large dining hall. He quietly sliced his portion of ham while sneaking a glance at Rowena, who determinedly stared straight ahead. What he said to her last night was quite unforgivable, and even he was aware of it. He condescendingly referred to her family background again, which was most unsympathetic of him. After all, she nearly poured her heart out to _him _after suffering through her nightmare. And he mercilessly pushed her away, left her in the cold. Her anger at him now, strangely, bothered and immensely perplexed him. He was proving to her that she should not rest any faith with him.

It was mostly silence in that barren hall, save for the lively chatter between Godric and Helga.

At certain points during their collective meal, Rowena appeared ready to say a few words before catching Salazar's steady gaze. She averted her eyes, ashamed that they should still lock on him after that incident. Though, yes, she discovered that he did not wish death upon her, he must have wished ill nonetheless. Eating her slice of custard, she looked at her hand, the one he touched. Why had it felt warm again? The man himself hadn't a warm personality. She shook her head and took her thoughts elsewhere.

Meanwhile, she was all Salazar could think about, puzzle over, and feel very much confused over. If he had the ability to apologize eloquently, he would do so this minute. But, since this would put his pride in jeopardy, he resolved to contemplate over his future regarding Hogwarts.

Doubtless, he would ensure that the most ambitious students be taken under his wing. If they did not share his drive, he would not find anything to say to them. No, they needed to show that hunger to succeed, that passion to rise above all other Mug—then, in that case...they needed to be pureblooded as well. A Muggle child...Merlin forbid what a Muggle child would do to him. Shatter his reputation perhaps? Destroy everything he had strived so relentlessly to gain? Worse, he could see those Muggle brats—filthy, devilish imps but no better—from his childhood beating him all over again. Only this time, he could end up becoming an experiment that answered the age-old question of "can wizards float?" These unpleasant thoughts distracted him from breakfast.

With his little sleep and now his ruined appetite, Salazar realized that the day of the momentous occasion could not bode well. He moved his plate of ham aside, glaring at nothing in particular while stranded in his pessimism. As soon as each of them finished eating (with Salazar and Rowena waiting for some time for the other two to finish), Godric stood up in his place at the head of the table. He reminded Salazar of what the ideal father figure was like, superior yet strong and doting over the rest of them.

"Let us be off to Hogwarts then. The sooner we cast those charms, the sooner we can relocate."

The time was practically past nigh, Salazar thought darkly, for two years was too much time in constructing such a castle.

Using _Wingardium leviosa_ constantly to lift the stone blocks, he and Godric used much wand work in building the ideal school. Of course, his friend had not wished to keep the design simple after a while. No, he wanted to add turrets and towers and battlements as parts of expansion. Then, after reluctantly following the steps to such a grand scheme, Salazar gathered supplies needed for the classes such as chairs and tables among other things. That part had taken half a year at least. Godric focused on furnishing and placed useful books from his own extensive collection to add to the Hogwarts library. In short, it took much time and endurance (and, Salazar constantly reminded Godric, patience) to put the school together and to ensure that everything essential was inside it. Perhaps it would have taken less time with the women assisting, but Godric insisted on being _considerate_, whatever that entailed.

Shortly after summoning the carriage drivers, Godric and the other founders walked outside in the slightly breezy yet warm summer morning toward the two carriages. Upon finding out there could only be two occupants per carriage, Salazar did not take issue and simply stepped toward his good friend. Though he sometimes clashed with him, given their personalities, he generally got along with the man who accepted friendship almost instantly. Someone that genuine, without a trace of malice or desire to betray at all, was a true friend to be had. And Salazar quite enjoyed this genial man's companionship, despite their sporadic disagreements. Unfortunately, Godric insisted that "since he knew the lovely Rowena Ravenclaw quite well, perhaps he should become reacquainted with her."

"Are you certain that you would prefer riding with Helga than with myself?" a somewhat irritated Salazar inquired, secretly coming up with his objection.

Godric nodded. "I entreat that you should ride with your old acquaintance. You two must have much to discuss."

"This is what one would consider an ulterior motive, is it not?"

"If it is for you and Lady Ravenclaw to make amends or something of that nature. I only have your best interests at heart."

Curtly inclining his head, Salazar said, "I trust your judgment."

He merely said this out of politeness, though on the contrary, he quite doubted this assumption. After the previous night, it was clear that the equally proud Rowena would not relent in her cool rage toward him. If they were to be in the same carriage together, a spirited debate was bound to take place. Of course, Godric indeed happened to be close friends with the Hufflepuff woman, ever since their childhoods when they met at the Gryffindors' annual Christmas ball. Both of them had related the story repeatedly to the extent that the actual telling of it was exhausted. Hesitantly, Salazar glanced over his shoulder to see Godric assisting Helga to the carriage they planned on riding.

Curses...He was most displeased to ride with Rowena, who held so much resentment toward him.

Instead of helping her up, Salazar entered the carriage and composedly sat there until Rowena came in of her volition. At first, as both carriages were put into motion, neither of them said a word. How was there to be a proper conversation after last night? Rowena stared out the window, her eyes taking on a dreaming, longing brightness that he hadn't glimpsed before. It was quite enchanting.

Then, turning toward him, she murmured, "I apologize for my conduct last night."

Startled that she should put away her pride, he attempted to protest, "But, I—"

"You must have been grieving for your father during all these past years. For me to ask about his opinion or allude to him at all was tactless. Loss...Tis never easy."

This true sincerity that resonated within her soft-spoken voice touched Salazar in a place where he did not recognize it could be touched. Then again, had his heart not been a mysterious thing since the night he met her? Nonetheless, Salazar realized that Rowena should have been blameless all along. If Godric had asked such a question (and he would admit to himself that his good friend had done such a thing), he wouldn't have lashed out as he had. An unfamiliar feeling called guilt suddenly seized him; far too humbled for his liking, he averted his eyes. Rowena Ravenclaw was not a Legillimens, yet she gradually pulled out these emotions that had been buried in his stone heart.

He then shook his head. "Nay, it is but little consequence. My reaction to your question was unnecessary."

Currently, Rowena assessed him in order to be the real judge of what he spoke to her. As she herself was well-acquainted with words—ever since she was a girl—she was aware that they could be said simply to change the subject. Normally, she would comply and keep up this wall that always stood between her and Salazar. Yet, it was slowly crumbling, brick by brick, the longer they had known each other.

She gently touched his arm. "People have many ways—many defenses—they use with which to conceal their grief. As much as you wish to deny it, Slytherin"—and here, she wryly smiled at his folly—"You are human. And that differs from Muggle, so don't even try to protest my claim. Your father dying affected you more deeply than you thought."

Her touch...was like nothing Salazar had ever experienced before, and he was too drawn to her to shirk away from it. She was almost maternal to him yet caring, too. By deciphering her thoughts as well, he could tell that she was perfectly honest with him. She meant every word she said at that given moment.

She amazed him.

His face still in a neutral expression, he asked her, "How ever did you come upon this conclusion?"

Smiling, her blue-gray eyes twinkling, Rowena quickly responded with, "I thought it over last night while in bed, after I so rudely abandoned you. Your words, I confess, enraged me so much so I instinctively fabricated my retort at that moment. Sometimes, I fail to think before I act."

Did her light touch on his arm fall under this problematic habit she had? Amused from this whimsical thought of his, Salazar couldn't help but smirk. Proceeding to look directly into her eyes, he let his smirk fade until he was completely solemn as usual. Perhaps she hadn't kept a grudge all these years, for she seemed much too kind for it. He felt grateful that she forgave him this quickly, though with a gasp, she released his arm. Odd, how he had been enjoying her hand placed there. No matter, he dismissed, she had to let go some time. But, oh, how she blushed!

"How did you sleep last night after our encounter?"

Appearing to lapse back into perfect alertness once recovering from her daze, Rowena sighed at that unpleasant recollection. "Poorly."

"As did I."

"We must have become more nocturnal then."

Before he knew it, he chuckled softly. "Aye. So we have."

She laughed in return, and he found himself cherishing that delightful sound. It reminded him of bells and just as musical if not more so.

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure...as I often proclaim," she said with the hint of her laughter. Did he, as of now, prefer her liking to her disliking?

He nodded. "A clever sentiment. Although, when we first met, I once told Godric..."

Rowena was pleasantly treated to hearing the actual circumstance that led to Salazar and Godric becoming such great friends. While listening, she remembered the sound of his chuckle. Quiet indeed but not harsh or scathing as she would have expected. There was something that caused his dark eyes to gleam as he talked to her, and she also discovered that his wit was uncommonly sharp as well. It was sensible that she would draw to that conclusion, for he had been her equal when they argued at the last Slytherin ball. He challenged her and engaged her in mind games. In this case, however, she could relax and make occasional comments that didn't earn her either a glare or a scowl from the former prince. He was actually quite the conversationalist.

When both carriages pulled up at the castle pathway, it felt that this delightful conversation came to an end all too soon. Both she and Salazar (though neither one were aware) wished that the ride could have gone on longer. For, at last, they were properly acquainted. Rowena would nearly venture that he was a friend at that point. But, she didn't want to prove herself hasty in that surmise.

"So this is the school," she said half to herself, gazing up at this majestic piece of architecture. "Astounding."

Salazar only bestowed her with a knowing glance and offered his hand to help her down.

It hardly took long for the charms to be cast so that Hogwarts would resemble a ruined building to Muggle eyes. Despite this inspiring occasion, Rowena thought and pondered over something else. Her dream. Now, it was her dream to teach eager young students ready to learn. Perhaps she was open of both mind and heart after all.

"Ah, this is progress," Godric declared once the charmwork was concluded. "Now for the students to arrive."

"Indeed! Are you not excited over this moment, Rowena dear?"

Helga's question caught Rowena by surprise after gazing at Salazar. "More than I can express, Helga."

And yet, less focused on her dream of handing down magic to future generations, something else (some_one _else) had now truly caught her eye.

* * *

**A/N: ****Rowena and Salazar finally getting along at last? Hm, definitely an improvement since they were kids, huh? I kinda feel bad, though, that this part of the chapter pretty much took up the whole thing instead of the actual arrival at Hogwarts. Oh, well. I have no idea how they managed to build Hogwarts, all the book said was "they built it." Stupid Professor Binns...not being specific enough about how they built it...How do four people (well, I decided on the two guys) build a freaking castle? That was a little complicated for me to explain, but oh well. No stressing over the minor details.**

**I also don't know what they ate back in the Middle Ages. I'm not up on that sort of thing. And when Godric meant to be considerate to the women in that they wouldn't help with the actual building, it's code for "it's a man's job." But, really, Godric isn't all that sexist here. I actually liked how I characterized him, since I figured he would be the type of nice, rambunctious person.**

**Oh, yeah, one more comment, and you guys can review. Yeesh, this A/N is long. Anyway, I just wanted to say that during this time, I was reading **_**Emma **_**by Jane Austen. That may or may not have affected the way the characters interacted.**


	18. Correspondence

**A/N: K, guys, I'm back with another exciting chapter of this story! XD Anyway, this time around, this chapter is going to be more episodic aka more like some random montage in a movie or something. I don't know, it's almost like I'm directing films inside my head or something. It's pretty weird. XD There's going to be something more to it too, which I hope all of you will like. That's all I'm gonna say for now.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

**Chapter 18: Correspondence**

"Charms will most likely be the most useful class all of you will pursue to become advanced in your magic," Rowena told her collection of students two months late. They were the ones she handpicked. Most of them had opted for this practice except Helga, who chose to take in the excluded ones. They traded off their students, so they could learn each subject equally. Initially, Helga (rather than Godric who opted not to think for the other three for quite some time) suggested that they should teach their students all the vital subjects. But, since Rowena knew she failed dismally at potions making, she agreed with Godric and Salazar that their original plan be intact. Nodding, smiling modestly, Helga said no more. Today was the first day of classes after they had gathered students from neighboring villages and other locations.

Surprisingly and thankfully, every set of Muggle parents called upon had no qualms in their children being taught at such a school each day. Godric, being the most amiable one of their group of four, knew how to persuade them if they had any doubts. Besides, with them personally making the visits wand-less, they appeared less threatening to the Muggles. A scoffing Salazar declined to visit their humble abodes and went off on his own to recruit pureblooded children. Rowena had been disappointed at this, for she slowly befriended Salazar and wished he would see reason. The other two were more naïve in thinking that he only did this to improve Muggle-wizardkind relations.

Nonetheless, Rowena dismissed Salazar's prejudices in order to focus on teaching her first Charms class as of this moment.

She continued, "Certain movements of the wand are needed for each spell you cast. Swish too hastily, and the results will be disastrous."

However, unaccustomed to tutoring younger peers, she talked extensively on the importance of Charms. Her set of students appeared to be quite drowsy toward the end of her lesson. What was most unfortunate was that Rowena almost prepared for their first demonstration before she consulted her miniature charmed hourglass.

"Oh, ah...Class dismissed," she told them, recalling that they the founders agreed that one hour per class was the limit.

Awkwardly stumbling—though not literally, thank Merlin—through four more classes, she felt an overpowering sense of relief once the students left for the day. She hadn't the slightest idea as to the high demands placed on a teacher. As she trudged toward the moving staircase in somewhat dejected spirits, Salazar joined her. She taught on the second floor, closest to the beloved library, whereas he taught in the cold dungeons. How different they were in that aspect! Smiling slightly at him, Rowena fell into step beside him.

"From what I have heard from my pupils, Lady Ravenclaw is exceptionally...dull."

Simply wonderful, how he would rejoice in her inevitable shortcomings as a teacher. Embarrassed, she glared at her tentative friend. "Oh, be quiet! I am most eager to hear what your method was."

Salazar chuckled, more than prepared to boast of how he fared on this first school day. "The students collectively know that I will not tolerate disobedience. And I may add that I assigned them to gather ingredients for the—"

"I suppose intimidation is your tactic," she sniffed. "Why is it that I am not surprised?"

"Do you have issue with the manner in which I use class time, Lady Ravenclaw?" he asked to counter her question, his lips forming that familiar smirk.

Visibly vexed now, Rowena stopped walking to glare more heatedly at him. "You clearly have issue with how I make use of mine!"

The smirk faltered subtly. "If I offended you—"

Breathing out a sigh of utter frustration, she found herself quite confused over how she wished to continue their conversation reasonably. This time, she had no idea why she was so angry. Then, she realized why. She thought her teaching would be so much better, and she was devastated that everyone, even the children, doubted her ability.

Before she could insist that he hadn't truly offended her, Salazar placed a hand on her shoulder. "You will become more skilled at tutoring with time. You are an intelligent witch, an indisputable fact that our colleagues agree upon. Do not lose heart."

"How...ah...kind of you, Slytherin," Rowena murmured, at a loss for words.

"Not kind, not in that sense." He put up the façade once more. "I am only advising you."

Interested at how benevolent his words were, Rowena failed to resist smiling as she ventured to the seventh floor to ask Godric for some parchment. She then wandered down to her private chamber a floor down to write to her sister Lucrecia.

_My dearest sister Lucy,_

_I thought that I should write you, so you can tell Mother and Father of my progress. I sincerely apologize for not writing sooner. Hogwarts—our school—business is quite taxing yet rewarding, I most assure you. Additionally, as I found out upon reaching Godric's castle this time two months prior, Salazar Slytherin recommended me. He has relinquished his title, which will probably come as a shock to you as it had to me. Who would ever predict he thought I was worthy of this tutoring position?_

_However, oddly, he has almost become my friend in some respects. I would have never dreamed that we would have anything to share through discourse, yet we have. He truly is not as inconsiderate as he once was when we were children. I suppose you saw us dance at that previous ball, so perhaps you will not be overly surprised. My first day teaching at Hogwarts has elapsed. I daresay that your intelligent, witty sister failed dismally. I prattled on too much instead of concentrating on the lesson. Slytherin seemed to do well, despite his preference for being a disciplinarian. I am sure Helga and Godric were positively delightful. I hope to improve, for I do sorely need it. If only we had had a younger sibling to tutor._

_I give all of you my love,_

_Rowena_

* * *

A week later, Rowena took the steps two at a time toward the Owlery, wondering if a response from Lucrecia had arrived yet. Upon seeing a calm owl (so different from Godric's impatient one) serenely grooming itself, she knew the letter had arrived. After days of coming up here, only to be disappointed, she was more than eager to grab the letter and break the Ravenclaw crest seal. Ah, even the parchment smelled like home! She happily perused the contents.

_My cleverest sister Ro,_

_Do not fret over accomplishing little on your first day. You will instruct with a precision that Father, Mother, and I know you possess._

_What is this over your befriending Prince (I mean King—oh dear, not even that) Salazar? I shan't inquire too much on the subject, but I only find it a wee bit odd. You are aware of how I am around people I distrust. Devon sends you his love. I come down to the village in your place merely to socialize. I am more intent on pursuing acquaintance with the Muggles as of late. I have sorely lacked in that area, if truth be told._

_So, twas Slytherin who recommended you? If I hadn't known better (and I do, Ro, more than you realize), I would venture that he is in love with you. Oh, you are laughing! From this far a distance, I hear it across the river and the meadows. We are sisters, after all. I sense your reactions! I myself doubt my theory as I write. Nonetheless, you have instilled a nearly impossible transformation in him. Was he not the most frigid man in England before?_

_Father and Mother are well and read your last letter with much enjoyment. I am off to a ball._

_Best of wishes,_

_Lucrecia_

Suppressing the urge to laugh, Rowena folded the letter and considered her sister's reasons as to why she would propose that. In love with her? Salazar Slytherin, _in love _with her? Preposterous! From time to time, he still said his scathing remarks, even without malicious intent. As she said in her last letter, she believed that their friendship was tentative at best, either going one way or another. Surely, he would never stoop to consider being in love with her. Lucrecia had been correct in that presumption that her sister could barely fight the laughter that threatened to burst out of her.

"Ah, my dear sister, why idealize such a thing?" she asked herself, descending the steps in order to meet with Salazar. They had agreed to practice dueling for that day.

Helga and Godric planned on wizard dueling as well for the sake of extra practice as well as for recreational purposes. Without students to teach in the afternoon hours, there was nothing else to do for the four founders. Once she met Salazar in the Great Hall, they proceeded to move aside tables with _Wingardium leviosa _to ensure plenty of room. Meanwhile, their two friends chose to duel outside, for Helga worried over a risk of injury with all four of them in one location.

"As though she doubts our abilities," Salazar commented, his smirk in place.

Ready to vouch for her friend, Rowena replied, "You never can know. An accident could occur."

"And who would be the cause? You?"

Flushing to the roots of her brown hair, she raised her wand toward him out of a need for vindication. Her friend's smirk merely widened.

"Not even a fair warning? Ravenclaw, I have infuriated you, have I not?"

"You are quite mistaken, Slytherin. I wondered when we were to start."

In turn, Salazar lifted his wand toward her. "Whenever you are fully prepared, my friend."

The two of them stood across each other, a considerable distance between them, for as much as Rowena considered this, he did not wish to hurt her. Perhaps Lucrecia had a point? Then again, her sister was leagues away in Eaglewood, so it mattered not.

"_Rictusempra_!" Rowena shouted the first spell (for Salazar chose to be rather polite to her in that respect), which sent a light silver blast in his direction. Calmly, he called out _Expelliarmus _and deflected it. She dodged, proving that she was extremely poised on her feet. Salazar nodded to himself, acknowledging the one thing he had stubbornly pushed out of his mind for years. They were equals in intelligence, skill, and determination. Perhaps they rivaled each other in other traits, though these three stood out the most to him. As they continued their mock magical fight, he noted her near-strategically placed movements in everything she did. The manner in which she moved was fluid, swift, almost like a dancer with her lithe body and graceful leaps. Whereas he moved only when necessary, waiting for the spell to come before he slid over.

A deadlock was set in place for the both of them, because with their keen wits, they gradually learned each other's styles. Spells kept flying and bouncing back, without either of them getting injured or hit.

"_Impedimenta_!"

"_Expelli_—ow!"

Shouting out the incantation too late, Rowena was impelled by Salazar's spell toward the back wall, where she made impact and slid down. Though it appeared to be a dangerous fall, she didn't sense too much pain, fortunately. It had been a duel to end all duels, and she could not have selected a worthier opponent in Salazar Slytherin.

As she remained sitting to recover from the spell that gave her immense shock, he rapidly strode toward her. Their eyes locked, and Rowena was astonished at what she gathered from his deep, dark ones. They held concern for her that was entirely needless. One non-threatening spell wasn't going to harm her forever.

"Are you injured?" he asked lowly, attempting (but... somehow…failing...) to sound nonchalant over this whole situation.

She cheekily grinned at him. "Oh, no need for such a fuss, Slytherin! I am very well. In fact—"she enthusiastically jumped to her feet—"Shall we have another go?"

Rowena Ravenclaw, even after eleven years of him somewhat knowing her, continued to awe Salazar in ways he never quite expected. With her glowing red cheeks and her lively spirit, she was one woman full of surprises. And he...could only look at her with a smirk instead of a smile on his face.

"Such a spirit and willingness I have never seen from anyone but you, Lady Ravenclaw. You bear this defeat most heartily, I must own."

"Defeat? Defeat?! Slytherin, the winner shall claim two out of three victories. Let us continue if you are prepared—more fully this time, I hope."

Salazar gazed evenly at her before telling her dryly, "Very well then. Do take care to keep up."

With a contemplative smile, Rowena secretly pondered over why they still called each other by their surnames. Then, with a flourish of her wand, the next duel commenced.

* * *

Once yet another week had elapsed, Rowena finally came around to respond to her sister as she contently sat on the window ledge of the Owlery. A book, which served as her writing surface, rested on her knees. This sunny day could not be more ideal, with the nearby blue lake glistening while the giant squid languidly splashed about.

_Lucrecia,_

_As you suspected, I did laugh at your surmise. But, I could scarce help it. Salazar Slytherin has become a friend to me in these past few weeks, but that does not imply he is in love with me. Sadly, I fear, he cannot love. He has never known it, as both of us have seen from his once cruel father. If I would express love to him, it would be from a dear friend only. It would be most unwise of me to pursue a romance with him for the demanding work of Hogwarts. I enjoy my teaching as of late and actually give the class exciting demonstrations. My good friend Salazar shall consume his words at last! You have no idea of the taunting I have received from him regarding this matter, though it is light._

_Helga Hufflepuff, the woman who took me away from you all, has become my closest confidante. Or perhaps my _other _closest confidante. She reminds me of you, Lucy, only without your constant desire for balls. Speaking of such, have you yet chosen a man to be your betrothed? I would be loath to know that my sweetest sister hasn't a husband. One of us should lead a life of matrimony at least. As your younger, though, I shan't lecture you on this matter. I mused, simply speaking._

_Hoping to hear from you quite soon,_

_Ro_

_By the by, I should have written to you more regarding Helga. She is a person who is passionate for life and kind toward all of us. She is like a mother and a sister at the same time. Oh, I do believe I see Salazar—I only call him by his first name in writing, I must add—walking toward the castle. Perhaps he sees me? Farewell until the next post._

Indeed, Salazar strolled toward the castle, his gaze drifting upwards toward that particular window.

He must have seen her, for he nodded toward her out of a slightly detached acknowledgement. Wishing to join him for the sake of obtaining companionship, Rowena practically flew down the stairs, down a few more floors, and out the entry doors to the grounds. It seemed as though he had preferred to wait for her, for he stood there with a sense of expectancy. Helga had informed her that he indeed was a Legillimens, which both fascinated and unnerved her. Legilimency was a rare gift to possess in the wizarding world, and therefore, she had to close her mind half the time he was near her.

"Oh, greetings, Slytherin," she said haltingly, breathless from her flight down the stairs.

Instead of a smile, Salazar smirked as complacently as usual, his eyes expressing the true smile. Rowena wondered why he resisted showing his emotions.

He gestured toward a random direction. "Shall we take a turn about the grounds, Lady Ravenclaw?"

"As you wish."

How they got along as of late compared to a few years ago was astounding, what with how simple it was to carry a conversation. Her revulsion for Salazar Slytherin (dare she say it) faded entirely away, replaced by a higher regard for him.

As they strolled on the green grounds, he remarked, "My students doubt your ability less."

Blue-gray eyes sparkling, she playfully smiled at him in an almost bragging manner regarding her improved classes. "I merely needed a fortnight or two to become the mistress of my own domain. As my only other sibling happens to be older, I previously had no experience in instructing those younger than myself."

"I haven't a sibling in the world, yet my classes initially stimulated the students' minds better than yours." He smirked again, though not unkindly.

"Hmph," Rowena mock scoffed. "_Initially_, meaning at first, my friend. It—"

"Did not take you long at all to adapt. I did...place some amount of faith in you."

Why was Salazar being so amiable with her lately? She sensed that perhaps he could be feigning.

"Feigning? Feigning what, if I may be so bold to inquire?" Salazar asked, with one of his eyebrows perked up curiously. His green-gray eyes held particular fervor for something that was difficult to suppress. Coming from a man who seemed utterly passionless, Rowena recognized this as something to behold, a rarity in itself.

She sighed, taking a glance at the huge expanse of grounds. "Your friendship toward me. You always detached yourself from others at the balls your father held. And you were wont to despise me. As much as I do indeed value your friendship most gratefully, I cannot comprehend at times why you should tolerate me now."

"You should not feel the least indebted to my friendly attachment with you."

This sounded wholly earnest to Rowena's ears, and she was deeply shocked to discover that it sent some unfamiliar feeling up and down her spine. Or, perhaps, it could be well-known to her at this point. Looking up at him, she could tell that he meant what he told her. Around her, he revealed more of his true self that was usually hidden behind a handsome yet emotionless face.

Just when she thought he concluded his sentiments, he added, "Godric proved to me that being a friend indicates far more than offering one's loyalties. It is offering companionship, laughter, solace...I never thought I would experience it. And, Lady Ravenclaw, I know for certain that I...that I..._long _to be a friend to you."

Appearing rather abased (and it was also unlike him to falter while speaking, as she had just observed), he stopped their walk once more. They now stood before the bright blue lake that acted as the mirror to the impeccably cloudless sky. While he still had his head turned away from her, Rowena pondered over his contemplative words that held much meaning. Over the past two years, he must have changed in some manner or other because of Godric. She had passed the time at Eaglewood reading and practicing her magic even further, and he had learned what real friendship was. It was beautiful.

Hesitantly, she took his gloved hand in hers. "You already have been...for a couple fortnights now."

He steadily gazed down at her with such a warm fire in his eyes, she smiled serenely.

In the meantime, she was blissfully unaware of how Salazar yearned to touch her, especially her face, for even a moment. Her honesty in everything she said impressed upon him the most. Whereas he would doubt nearly everyone's claim of wanting to be intimate friends, he could not be so skeptical of her. His heart beat rapidly by merely looking at her in her glorious perfection. And the happiness of her smile tempted him to return it. She was penetrating his emotional walls in ways that no one else could have done, not even his closest friend Godric.

Inclining his head to her politely, he murmured, "Thank you."

Rowena's smile widened, for she knew that he was the type of man who seldom expressed gratitude.

Glancing down at their intertwined hands, Salazar reluctantly withdrew his hand and lost that gentle warmth in the process. But...perhaps he was displaying too much softness around her. He _never _behaved in this fashion! Nonetheless, Rowena was indeed worthy of his attentions. If their friendship progressed into anything more, he would be willing to give her his affection as well. Only time could be certain of the end result.

After a contented silence, Rowena responded at length, "You needn't thank me, Slytherin. I can be swayed as to who my true friend will be. And I do value the fact that we can speak to each other without quarreling."

He laughed slightly as he strode ahead of her, his eyes glistening with what appeared to be amusement. "Aye, it is pleasant that we can coincide in this school environment without Helga or Godric attempting to intervene."

"Then let me presume that it was Godric who told you to ride in the carriage with me that day."

"I must say that indeed, it was his idea, one of his brightest thus far."

Salazar placed a hand on her shoulder to show that he was thankful that that fateful day resulted in their friendship. As they continued walking, he allowed his hand to stay on her shoulder without once retracting it. All the while, Rowena had come up with a riddle to occupy herself with.

Could she...? Was she falling in love with Salazar Slytherin?

* * *

**A/N: ****K, when originally writing this, I swear that reading Jane Austen fully affected the way I wrote. Seriously. I mean, I thought it would only make sense for Salazar and Rowena to be friends before something...something...could or might or maybe happen. Like the term "attachment" in this case would mean a close friendship or relationship of any kind. And turn is basically walking around something once or twice like a garden. I'm kinda liking the fact that reading Jane Austen in turn affected the story just a little bit.**

**I still wanted them to call each other by their last names because I thought it was cute, funny, and...well, yeah. I could rant on all day about this chapter, but I won't cuz I hate rambling (I do it a lot, too) and boring people. But, psst, by the way, the duel part was my favorite part to write! XD**

**Until next time, CU.**


	19. Moment

**A/N: ****Hm, this is the first chapter in this that I actually edited some little details. I just wanted this chapter to be perfect. You'll see why soon.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**Edit 3/24/14: Now made 50% better with editing! Seriously, some of the mistakes I made in this one, yeesh. I guess I was just too excited to get to the most romantic part in my typing up of this chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter 19: Moment**

In the dungeons, where he claimed his portion of the castle as well as his classroom, Salazar occupied himself with the last Potions class of the day. He idly walked among his students to oversee their progress of the Wiggenweld Potion that they recently studied. Since it was Hufflepuff's set of students, the vast majority of them were Muggleborns. He suspiciously glanced at the groups of two mixing their potions, ensuring that at least they had gotten the color right. Muggles, surely, could not be expected to do too much in terms of magic—quite blatantly, in his opinion, they attained their abilities out of sheer chance.

"Add more asphodel, both of you," he practically admonished one pair of partners who anxiously peered up at him. "The recipe called for a great deal more than that."

He was the master that the students feared more than they would admire except, perhaps, his pureblooded set of students. Perhaps his teaching method was rather harsh, but he had to teach them discipline and respect as well. The other three were unsure regarding how he acted around his classes, especially Rowena. But, he thought stubbornly, he could hardly please everyone.

Upon glancing at his miniature hourglass, he saw that it was time for the conclusion of classes for the day, thank Merlin.

"Class has ended for the day."

Frantically corking samples of their potions, the students rushed out of the classroom in single file, though one of them lingered.

The particular blonde girl (with eyes similar to the color of Rowena's) asked him precociously, "Master Slytherin, is this precise?"

She held up her bottle, which he carefully examined. "Yea...It is actually perfect. I see nothing erroneous about it, Isabelle. Now go."

Sighing heavily, he watched those set of students depart Hogwarts and realized that his socialization skills were truly limited. The reason as to why he taught classes in this manner was because he was unable to understand these children. When they would return home, they (even the Muggles, he grudged) would see a pot of stew cooking over an open fire. Their loving mothers would tend to them, and their fathers would affectionately hoist them up in the air as they so loved. How could Salazar relate to them, truly?

No one loved him, except his father in a twisted way. Teaching in his detached method was the only solution, for he hadn't any siblings and was skilled at bluntly getting to the point. As he climbed up the steps to the cavernous entrance chamber, he noticed Rowena descending a short set of stairs toward the Great Hall. When she saw him, her comely face broke into a lovely, composed smile that showed all of her mystique. Salazar slightly shook his head, skeptical that a woman like her could be so open and accepting of a man like him. It could not be real.

"The house elves plan to fix up trout. Care to join us?" she asked brightly.

He nodded, finding that he indeed cared for an early dinner. "Aye. I would."

Only her spirit could convince him of anything in the world. Even such a trifle as fish.

* * *

"Ugh! Blasted needlepoint, how I most deeply loathe it," Rowena told Helga after pricking her index finger with the needle. In an attempt to ease the pain, she put her finger in her mouth while her friend looked on amusedly. Of course, Helga would be entertained by this display. She was quite the embroiderer and boasted of the many samplers that were in her chamber back at the Hufflepuff castle called Merryweather. A suitable home name for such a cheerful redheaded woman like Helga.

Her friend giggled like a young girl. "Needlepoint is not overly difficult, dear Rowena. It only requires patience and constant practice."

Nursing her finger now that she pulled it out of her mouth, Rowena smiled ruefully. "Of which I have neither. Embroidery was never one of my strong suits."

"Nay, but you are quite the avid reader."

"Aye, I cherish books far more than I do this."

Helga smirked slyly, her sky blue eyes sneaking toward her in their stare. "I do believe that there is something else you adore—or, should I say, someone."

If Helga was speaking of what she assumed, Rowena sensed that she had come under exposure. She blushed as she glanced down at her sampler with those agonizingly awkward stitches. But, then again, how could her friend have known?

"I am not in love with any man at present, Helga. I surely am not mistaken in the presumption that you do not arrange matches, am I?"

"Oh Merlin, of course not!" Helga laughed jovially, easing her needle through a few more perfect stitches. "I swear that you must harbor an attraction toward—well—Salazar."

Rowena directed her attention to the vividly red-orange flames that crackled in the hearth of the common room Helga claimed as her own. Grateful for the heat of the fire, she considered it was a better reason to justify the blush spreading on her cheeks. "If I did, my dear friend, how would he respond? He could never care for me as more than a friend. We fought often in our younger years to the extent that we nearly detested each other for good. It would be odd."

Being the good friend she was, Helga poured the both of them cups of wine from her ever present bottle. Rowena had learned over a short period of time that wine offering implied a gesture of comfort, something to share with friends. It certainly calmed the senses better than firewhiskey, comparatively.

"Think on it, Ro. Look deep into your heart. Do _you _care for him?"

In order to forestall her answer, Rowena sipped from her cup once setting her sampler aside. Perhaps there was no meditating this further. Helga was right in that she had to follow her heart, no matter how Salazar would react to her confessions.

"I believe that I do," she said quietly, somberly, drinking her wine until she drained its contents. "He is someone wholly different around me. There has been less coldness, less pride from him. He..."

Her throat closed up, forcing her to stay silent and to take up her embroidery again. Emotion caused her to remain this muted, for she wondered why this had to happen.

Devon...Did she not need time to recuperate from the drifting apart aspect of their romance? Suppose that the possibility of loving Salazar would distract her from her teaching? She needed some fresh, late summer night air to clear her head.

"Thank you for helping me in this matter, Helga. I most appreciate it." She couldn't even force herself to smile. "But, I must be going. A late night's walk on the grounds should do me well."

A twinkle of laughter that was almost always existent in Helga's sparkling eyes flickered out due to the empathy she felt toward her friend. "I comprehend. Take as much time to ruminate as you need, Rowena. Love can be difficult in regards to whether or not it is requited. Tis extremely bothersome to puzzle it over as well. Though it is rather stifling outside, I warn you."

Rowena patted her hand. "I should be faring well. Fret not. I quite enjoy summer air."

And she walked out of her friend's common room to escape the oppressive walls of Hogwarts altogether, at least for a little while. Why was she not content with the possibility of being in love? She recollected the vaguely befuddled expression on Helga's face when she told her the truth. If she confused her friend, she confused herself even more so.

This night was enchanting in appearance, though it was indeed very warm. But, so many stars glowed radiantly in the dark blue sky hanging above her head, staring at her like thousands of pairs of eyes. She could hear their owls from the Owlery hooting enigmatically, and she observed Godric's restless owl take flight to search for prey. To think, a week ago she had strolled these grounds with Salazar alongside her, with the two of them conversing amiably. Toward each other, they had acted like friends who had known each other for many years, perhaps since childhood. She remembered his eyes that day, eyes that had lost their frostiness temporarily.

Rowena let out a sigh before stopping near the shore of the lake, where he confided in her about wishing for friends all along. Though he seemed to be a solitary man for most of his life thus far, he must have secretly craved the benefits of intimacy with someone in terms of friendship. Had he been displaying affection that day?

As she pondered over what to do next, she cautiously looked over her shoulder to ensure that no one else was around. For, she prepared to do something risky and something that would be a debacle when it came to a woman's decorum. The manner in which she had been carrying herself over these past few years proved that it would devastate the childish Rowena from long ago. The Rowena who took every opportunity given for freedom, to never be Lady Ravenclaw in her lifetime no matter what.

She knew for certain that Helga would stay inside the castle for the rest of the night, judging from her unfavorable comments on the temperature. Godric, fortunately, was not one for nightly strolls but preferred to roam outside during the day. And Salazar kept himself shut up in his chamber, brewing potions with an almost obsessive perfectionist nature that suited him far too well. Relieved that there would surely be no one prowling about the grounds, Rowena proceeded to remove her dark blue satin dress. This night felt ideal enough for a nocturnal swim in the lake. Gradually, she removed certain articles of her clothing until she was only in a thin white chemise.

With a crafty smirk playing on her lips, she undid that awful contraption of a corset that had been over this particular garment. She started laughing then at a childhood memory of her declaration that she dreaded growing up and having to wear them. How right her childish self was in predicting that corsets would be frightfully uncomfortable. Lastly, she undid her braid, allowing her dark brown hair (somewhat darkened with age) to be loose and free, as it had been five years ago on Michaelmas night. She promptly jumped into the lake, and the small waves she made upon impact splashed over her. Ah, that cool water felt so alleviating against her burning skin. It was far hotter than she previously thought, even for nighttime.

Cooled from the heat, Rowena also felt like she was sixteen again, careless and free without bothering to look ahead into the future. At first, she dipped herself in the water, covering her head as she ventured outward. Then, after playfully splashing about by herself, she merely floated on the lake's surface on her back. As she let herself be carried and felt as though gravity had no control over her, she dreamed. Though still awake, her thoughts wandered anywhere and everywhere. She reflected over her family and hoped that they were doing well in living their lives fully. And then, she thought about her students and how much they adored her. Once teaching them the Cheering Charm earlier that day, they were positively thrilled, and one of them proclaimed that her class was superior to the rest. Her lips twitched into a placid smile.

Unbeknownst to her, someone watched her languidly float from afar and could not help but admire her. Salazar Slytherin, for once exasperated with the tedious work of brewing potions, had decided to escape Hogwarts' confines for a leisurely solo walk. He hadn't a clue that Rowena would be out here too, swimming in the lake of all things. Then again, though it was improper of him to observe her like this, he found that his eyes fixated on her. To him, she looked extraordinarily beautiful tonight, her wet dark hair trailing after her. Lately, he had forgotten to question why he was as attracted to her as he was. He had learned to accept it for what it was and didn't dare to fight this emotion any more. It stirred through him, and he pondered over whether he should join her or not.

Knowing her as a somewhat closer friend now, Salazar assumed that she would mind considerably if he intruded, especially in the state of dress (or undress) she was currently in. Yet, at the same time, she seemed to be someone who was unaware of her own beauty. Perhaps she even disliked her physical appearance. Before he knew it, he acted on his impulses as he rarely did before through unfastening his gray cloak as he quietly approached the lake.

He was so discreet that Rowena was shocked beyond words when he called out, "Lady Ravenclaw!"

No, no, he must not be out here this time of night! He was supposed to be toiling away at his potions, or so she thought. And he couldn't see her like this. It violated particular codes of conduct, after all.

However, never had she seen him this breathtaking before, the moonlight catching itself in his dark raven hair and the black clothing he wore.

"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked, though his eyes expressed that he would get into the water with her in spite of how she answered.

Trembling for a reason she could not identify, she said falteringly, "Oh...um...you may, I suppose."

He chuckled, pulling his black shirt up over his head. "You suppose? Out of all the times for you to be coy, Lady Ravenclaw, I would scarcely expect it to be now. But I, as you are well aware, am not coy. Perhaps it is solely because I am allowing my instincts to prevail me."

As soon as he unlaced his boots, he dove into the lake in a more graceful fashion than her simple jump. Clearly, he must have had more experience swimming than she had, and she had lived in a place situated near a creek deep enough for swimming. Salazar displayed natural ability and seemed quite comfortable with it. Cautiously executing the backstroke, Rowena still had her eyes transfixed on...on...He really did look handsome, and she certainly wasn't used to seeing his bare chest. If they were more clothed, perhaps she would feel a great deal less nervous. While she politely attempted to avert her eyes, his smoldered with an intensity that would otherwise be suppressed. He allowed himself to drink in her comeliness, her eyes—everything. She swore those eyes must have contained desire.

And though Rowena put up a valiant effort to evade him, he determinedly swam forward. "Are you blushing? I, for one, would have never anticipated the great, intelligent, rational witch Lady Ravenclaw to do such a thing. Do you take joy in seeing me...like this?"

He clearly spoke with a mixture of amusement and sarcasm, yet he smirked in such a musing way that she was instantly drawn. Yes, she blushed, her cheeks glowing with a brilliantly bright pink. Then, she smirked back as she splashed at him.

"A heightened conceit does not flatter you at all, Slytherin."

He laughed softly at how childish she was behaving, but he nonetheless played along. "I daresay that when you first met me, you declared me arrogant."

"And how, pray tell, did it come to me blushing like a young girl around you?" Rowena inquired in jest, though there was a genuine connotation in her words.

His eyes gleamed as he dunked her head while she laughed. "I would not know. Why do you not tell me?"

"Oh, be quiet, Slytherin!"

"Hm, not so coy now, are you?"

She continued their game that involved both swimming and wit, as the two greatest minds in Hogwarts gently clashed. "Coy can never be in my extensive vocabulary, least of all near you."

They circled each other, their eyes locking, following, without straying toward anything else. A magic, as powerful as any spell, was cast between them. Neither of them could pull away, for they found themselves very much captivated. Rowena, entranced by his effortless movements and his intelligence and his face—_everything_—didn't realize he had touched her hand until she heard a deep murmur.

"Rowena..."

He...addressed her by her first name in place of her surname. Bewildered, she blinked several times to reassure herself that this wasn't one poetic, fantastical dream lurking in her mind's eye. Once she turned toward him again, she studied his pale, attractive face to memorize it and the moment they would soon share.

The normally harsh, cool green-gray eyes that cut off any hint of emotion had softened. A kind, gentle smile settled onto his lips, unlike any facial expression she witnessed from him. He proceeded to stroke her long hair.

"Yea?" she whispered, exhilarated yet uncertain of his intentions.

Salazar's small smile widened slightly. "You are unlike any woman I have met before. You are certainly a witch ahead of your time as well. Your intelligence, your beauty, your wit...How can I not resist such traits? Your presence alone causes me to feel awed. You are simply perfection."

Rowena was stunned by his words that sounded as though they passed from a lover's lips rather than a friend's. She anxiously ran her fingers through his damp locks in a fleeting attempt to calm herself. How could he possibly see so much in her—so much more—than she would search for in herself? Furthermore, they had only just become friends, yet he sought more.

"I, ah, am at a loss. Slytherin..."

Tenderly (so tenderly), he moved his hand away from her hair to cradle her face. "Salazar. Call me Salazar, Rowena."

How could it be that such a passionate soul had lain hidden under his emotionless exterior? Now, Rowena sensed that the imploring tone of his whisper could whisk her away.

"Salazar," she began, noticing the brightness of eye and the increased softness of his smile that looked much more beautiful than his smirk. "I must tell you that...Well, I have observed that you are very kind to me. Is that why—?"

"Aye," he assured her after using his Legillimens ability. "It is. I deeply feel nothing but the highest sort of regard for you, Rowena. From the moment we met, I...I knew that you would be significant and even dear to me."

Still confused as to how their rivalry could suddenly become the opposite, Rowena prepared to add more. "I—"

"Shhh." He hushed her, tilting her head over toward his. "Be silent."

Fully caught up in her eyes that proved to him that she was indeed somewhat insecure, Salazar, emboldened, resolved to prove his affections for her. He could not conceal his heart from her much longer. Their moment was now. If she spurned him, then there would be nothing left to accomplish. But, if this was indeed requited, he swore to himself that he would be loyal to her. Rowena Ravenclaw was the only woman he would ever surrender himself to.

Drawing her even closer to him, he whispered in her ear, "Be still," though she shivered both at his melodic voice and his touch. Moth to a flame...Moth to a flame...Rowena somehow repeated this in her head with some lingering nervousness.

She fretted that he would take advantage of her with using those endearing words and those dark eyes that were now inflamed with passion. The worst possible thing was for him to cast her aside, to rid himself of her after this perfect night came to its end.

"Are you afraid of me, Rowena?" Salazar cupped his hands around her shoulders.

"Not of _you_, exactly," she admitted, shamefaced. "But of what you can do to me. I...I am rather concerned that you will forget me after this."

Comfort and sweet relief swept over her as she felt lips brush against her throat, followed by a soothing whisper, "You needn't be frightened. I shan't harm you."

As Rowena in turn grasped his shoulders, he added with a sensual cadence, "All I want...All I could ever wish to claim as mine and mine alone..."

Their faces were but an inch apart, and she was dying to hear what he would profess when it came to his one desire. Though her logical mind knew, her heart ached to hear it said nonetheless. She pressed her forehead against his once he lowered his head.

Taking a breath, Salazar then told her, "...Is you."

His lips captured hers as soon as he said that last word, that gloriously meaningful, loving word. Normally, she was loath to being referred to as a possession, but she grasped his meaning. He truly valued her, especially through his kiss.

He stroked her hair before he held her by her waist as he let his lips travel to everywhere on her face: below her ear, her forehead, her nose, her cheek, and then back to her mouth again. There was a desire too, a yearning to be with her always as she wanted to be with him eternally. Soon, Rowena forgot her surroundings upon giving Salazar a fervent kiss that released her repressed emotions and longings. She could die happy if this moment was to be her last. And there was nothing better than to feel thoroughly loved by a man who, all along, had sincerely cared for her...

But, ill-fatedly, as she placed her hands on his chest, she recalled that she was kissing Salazar Slytherin. Those memories from her past...How foolish!

"I must go," she informed him quickly, without hesitation, despite her heart crying out for more of him. Her logic, however, begged to differ concerning this subject. There was a school to be run. She hadn't the time for love or perhaps its semblance. For, suppose it was Salazar's most masterful trick? Embarrassed, she swam the few feet toward the shore, when she heard his voice, soft and entreating.

"Rowena...My love, do not—"

"I cannot." Her voice broke. "Do not dare ask me why."

Head against heart. Considering she had plenty of both, Rowena was stranded somewhere in the middle.

* * *

**A/N: ****Ah, don't hate me, guys! DX Just kidding. XD But, I know it's like, "Why would Rowena do that?" among all of you. Even with me. But, as maybe you'll find out next chapter, it's all sorts of things that caused her to recoil like she did. And besides, after this, you know things can never be the same again, which ever way this turns out.**

**Anyway, what did you think at my tenth attempt at a decent romance scene in a fic of mine? At first, being the perfectionist I was, I still didn't think it translated from my mind to paper right. But...this might actually be the first romance scene I've written that I'm satisfied with. At least a little. XD**


	20. Earnestness

**A/N: I seriously love Fridays. One of the best days of the week, as far as I'm concerned. Well, here it is, the latest chapter to C&C.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**4/6/14: Richard is now Roland. Minor detail, but luckily, there's not too much more for me to edit.**

* * *

**Chapter 20: Earnestness**

Over the next fortnight or so, Rowena miserably avoided Salazar every chance she could. She preferred it if she didn't see the coldly infuriated expression on his face that she knew would be there. Worse, she dwelled on the possibility that he wasn't angry with her at all but agonized over her actions. The manner in which she so abruptly left him in the lake that beautiful late August night must have given him immense pain. To always remember that she was the cause wounded her spirits, too. And because of her awful mistake, she taught her classes with less gusto than before. She mused over what Salazar would say regarding her teaching now. Most likely nothing, for he surely despised her again. As cowardly as she was, whenever she saw a flash of dark green, black, or silver, she retreated in the opposite direction.

But, what inwardly crushed her most came in the form of her owl flying into the Great Hall one morning during breakfast. After excusing herself from the table (ensuring to avert her eyes from Salazar), Rowena read the letter with a pang.

_To the wittiest, kindest, gentlest sister in the world,_

_It has been quite some time since I last wrote, for which I apologize. But, you must forgive me when I divulge my good tidings. I am betrothed! Our parents happened not to arrange my upcoming marriage on any design. Twas my decision. His name is Roland Cornwell, a Muggleborn wizard with the title of duke. However, he was so charming to me since our first encounter, his rank matters not to me. He is kind and generous and has been accepted by both our parents. Ah, tis so very extraordinary to become a bride at last! I doubted I would become a spinster, though I wondered about my fate for a while._

_Thank Merlin that Roland is a wizard as well! Since that dreadful Peter, I swore I would never marry a non-wizard man. Happily, Roland is extremely talented at magic, particularly transfiguration. And oh, the children I shall bear for him! I could not be happier, dearest Ro. Now if we could just find you a husband...I hope you are faring quite well with Salazar. Perhaps you two shall be together. For, I wish nothing but the best for you, my cherished sister._

_With affection,_

_Lucrecia_

Rowena hadn't expected tears with mingled joy and sorrow to stream down her face upon reading about her sister's good fortune. It was more than just that, though; Lucrecia had discovered true love, and her cup of happiness was brimming, almost overflowing with the prospect of the most blissful, enduring marriage. And of course Lucrecia would think dotingly over her sister instead of herself during such a merry time as this. In this case, unfortunately, she grudgingly felt as though she had suddenly become an object of pity with this news. Ah, poor Rowena Ravenclaw, so pretty and lovely but far too intelligent and logical for any man to be interested in her for long! The pathetic spinster she would become in dreary later years! And nothing was as spinsterish an occupation as schoolteaching.

What troubled Rowena the most was that Lucrecia the elder sister, the comely young girl, and the girlhood confidante was seemingly no more. She belonged in the arms of that Roland Cornwell, her betrothed who would now most likely hear her secrets with kind attentiveness and love. Ugh, so dreadful for Lucrecia to be married! So frightfully deplorable! Leaning against the wall as she sighed with some melodrama, Rowena wiped at her wet eyes. Perhaps she should reflect on the positive outcomes of this match rather than the negative ones. Still, the letter inadvertently deepened the wound that concerned Salazar, who would forever shun her.

It had been undoubtedly her fault for bringing about this strain, but she was inevitably confused, now more than ever. What was so complicated about falling in love with a man who was once condescending toward her? That night in the lake, he had shown his warmth as well as his passion, laid his soul bare for her to see. The manner in which she stopped their wonderful kiss would signify rejection for him. But, quite the contrary, she possessed her own affection for him. She...She...

She mustn't sob out of something that had been her doing. She looked down upon heroines in certain tales for that sort of thing. Like the ideal heroine, in her opinion, she must be strong. Additionally, she took into account that the students would arrive within less than an hour. Thus, pride intact, Rowena recovered from her crying and soldiered onward with her teaching for the rest of the day.

* * *

"Women!" Salazar snarled later that afternoon, tossing yet another stone into the lake, with Godric awkwardly looking on. "Must they be so devilishly particular? Merlin, Godric, I wonder how I erred in addressing my feelings to...to _her_."

His friend stroked his somewhat longer beard in thought. "I never assumed for one moment that you would reveal your thoughts concerning Ro—"

"Do. Not. Speak. Her. Bloody. Accursed. Name." Salazar made sure to emphasize each word, though he felt like a fool upon utterance. As long as it was Godric he was speaking to, however, at least he needn't feel obliged to mask himself. After all, the man had proven himself to be quite the loyal friend in recent years. Yet, why did he feel so idiotic discussing this?

It was then that he recalled that he used to be a man of solitude before they all founded Hogwarts together. Now, having to be forced to share social interaction daily with students and fellow founders alike, Salazar bitterly presumed that he lost some of his stolidity.

It was _her _doing! If he had never met her—never even spoken to her these eleven years prior—he wouldn't be in this degrading circumstance at present. Merlin, he had been in a state since she swam away from him, from that kiss he cherished so. What a lovesick buffoon he had reduced himself to! And, of course, there was absolute shame in him relating the full story to Godric after drinking a whole bottle of firewhiskey.

With all that in mind, Salazar couldn't help but feel that his pride had somehow been completely tarnished in all of his rage and...and he supposed sadness over what he considered a loss. Too many losses… And this one injured worst of all.

Wrapped up in his raving thoughts, he barely heard Godric remark, "Tell her how deeply you care for her, my friend."

"I already did," he spat. "As demonstrated by my drinking of that wretched firewhiskey."

Despite attempting to remain grave and wise, Godric chuckled helplessly, for the sarcasm embedded in those words was somewhat comical. "Assure her, then, that she can trust you, as I trust you, as Helga trusts you. It requires two to kiss, does it not?"

Hm...Well, Salazar could conclude, Rowena had returned the kiss. Perhaps all hope was not lost.

Nonetheless, she had indeed spurned him, and he was quite vexed at her for it to the point of infuriation. His softness, his human side revealed—it disgusted him that she should bring such traits out in him. He had been weak, and he saw her as taking full advantage of it. He glared at the giant squid's tentacles.

"Her rejection was thoughtless on her part," he said darkly, cynically, as he clenched his gloved hands. "But, I shall speak to her on this matter. Oh indeed, I will have a discussion with her regarding her behavior."

Godric shook his head. "Blame this not on her. No one is at fault."

"By Merlin, no one is," Salazar replied scathingly before he abruptly turned on his heel and stalked off.

Normally, conversations with his closest friend Godric would last longer than this particular one had, but he found that he was much too frustrated to continue. Something had to be resolved by day's end, he knew that much. He stormily forged ahead toward the castle, determined to sway Rowena to his viewpoint. She would learn to see reason, and that he had been right all along. On what he had been so accurate about, he wasn't quite sure. Before he pushed the main entrance doors open, Godric—the persistent fellow—had caught up with him at this point. As a natural outdoorsman, he possessed much stamina and energy.

"Rowena is perhaps insecure about undergoing such drastic change in her life, certainly unbeknownst to either of us. All I am saying, Sal—cautioning you against, truly—is to not be overly rash."

Salazar gripped the door handles until his knuckles turned white. "I am merely attempting to persuade her to see from my perspective."

"Persuasion?" One of Godric's eyebrows rose. "I hope it is not too forceful."

"My method is what it is. I heed no one's recommendation."

He would have to civilly apologize later to his friend for becoming this defensive, perhaps during dinner. For now, he was all too set on his goal to allow such distractions as advice to delay this pressing matter.

* * *

"Oh," Rowena commented with that simple monosyllable as she smiled wider than she had in weeks. "Such a legendary dragon. Though as a witch, I hope not to meet one in my lifetime. Nay, sadly, the Muggles can act in place of dragons. Pity."

She talked to herself pleasantly, flipping through the pages of a book that told of Sunfire, a fierce Hungarian Horntail that frightened villagers. For, as its foreboding name described, claims were that its breath was as hot as the sun. However, twas a work of mere fiction, yet it seemed very genuine to Rowena. Dragons' fire was likely that intensely blazing. With half a shrug, she put the book back in its place on one of the library's many shelves.

As she wandered down the aisle to occasionally glance at book titles, she could have sworn she heard brisk footsteps. She stopped to listen. Upon hearing them again more carefully, she presumed that these footsteps belonged to someone who often strode purposefully towards their destination. Today, they sounded more urgent than usual, which compelled her to freeze in place. She hadn't the slightest inkling as to what to do or say in order to abate _his _approach.

"Rowena Ravenclaw!"

Clutching her chest, Rowena sharply turned round to see Salazar Slytherin's face, which appeared whiter and more withdrawn than ever. And there was ominous rage present as well.

In order to pretend that she wasn't the least bit startled over his intrusion, she half-heartedly greeted, "How now, Sala—"

Something formed in her throat that made her say no more, for he had taken three angry strides toward her and trapped her against a bookshelf with one arm. "Would you rather feign that nothing was shared between us, Lady Ravenclaw? If so, then I feel no need to join in on your _little game_."

"This most certainly is _not_ a game to m—"

"Then, what is it?!" He raised his voice while ensuring that she was pinned against the shelf.

"Will you cease interrupting me whilst I speak?!" she shot back, becoming just as irate as he undoubtedly was. "What happened to the considerate man from that night?"

Salazar smiled mirthlessly, sneering, "He was too soft, too open. Too human."

Her words from the day on which they had all charmed the school had been unappreciatively, _ungratefully _flung back in her face. Once again, he resorted to tactics that undermined his opponent, mocking whatever she once said in the past. He talked of games, and yet, he had devised one of his own volition. But, there was no way she would cheat as he thought up his own rules as he went along. Furthermore, she now knew that this current face, these current words were what his very façade comprised. Despite the Slytherin cunning, she could never be fooled again.

"Oh, really?" The smirk widened as he gripped her shoulders. "Perhaps I can offer you more ruses that will alter your opinion on this matter."

His Legilimency be damned! Rowena glared at him, merely because it was a far better alternative than crying.

She shook her head in disbelief, aware of his love of words (for she possessed that same love) and that they were a ploy for something else. "Not a ruse nor a game nor a trick can sway me, Salazar. Why are you behaving like this?"

The smirk vanished as Salazar loosened his tight, overbearing grip on her. "As far as I am concerned, Ravenclaw, you took advantage of me. I was guileless and naïve enough to permit myself vulnerability. I let my guard down, we kissed, and then, you discarded me! Utterly left me alone in that accursed lake, bewildered and wounded beyond my imagination!"

She had given him pain? Of course, for she had stupidly abandoned him due to her own confusion.

"Aye, you are incomprehensibly foolish," he resumed in a frosty tone, his eyes glinting with such coldness that she felt the chill, the full impact of them. "And selfish. How can you do this to me? I offered you my heart, and that wouldn't sate you!"

"Stop this! Stop tormenting me with this guilt!"

"You stop evading me this instant!"

"NO!" Rowena screamed, her eyes near overflowing with tears, as much as she loathed them. She must calm herself and remain strong. "Salazar, do you not realize my intentions by now? The reason why I have avoided you is because I am fearful. Though you were so reassuring and kind, I still had my lingering doubts to mull over. I allowed them to rule me. And as of this moment, you despise me and rightfully so."

The sound of her voice cracking with emotion made her wince, for she appeared to be the weak one in this dismal confrontation. She bestowed him with the opportunity for revenge if he so chose to accept it. Fighting unreasonably and harshly like this, however, did not suit her in the slightest. If surrender truly was the most sensible, she would follow through with that instinct. She glanced away, but a warm hand cupped her chin delicately, so that she had to hesitantly lock eyes with him once more.

"Despise you?" Salazar smiled fleetingly. "Never. While you let fear control your actions, I allowed pride to control mine. I am to blame more than you. Forgive me."

Rowena gave him a tender stare. "No need for you to ask."

"Then, allow me to explain myself," he gently implored and, as soon as he received a confident nod, continued, "My display of rage and exasperation was certainly heedless. But, this...this is strange and recent to me as well. Rowena, I have not felt in a long time—or, frankly, I did not know how. I was accustomed to rejecting whatever little humanity I did possess. Nevertheless, you ensured to alter this aspect in extraordinary ways. As I have told you, your presence alone sufficed in accomplishing this."

Those dark eyes had considerably warmed, and Rowena discovered that she was drawn to him more than ever.

However, she had since learned her lesson to not chase away this stirring, beautiful emotion but to let it grow, to flourish.

"Go on," she encouraged, this pause in conversation keeping her in suspense.

Salazar fingered a loose strand of her hair. "Very well. When you gave me your friendship, I was at a loss. I knew not as to why I had become so agreeable toward you. Ever since our very first encounter, my instincts told me I would desire something else. As you know, I confessed to you this desire—what I would consider a need—and you seemed at your most content. But, then—" He looked toward the books above her head—"You cast me aside. And I carried this resentment for these many days, needlessly blaming you for causing me to act weak."

In order to alleviate him from the exhaustion and agony that releasing his suppressed feelings had done, Rowena wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Salazar smiled again.

"On the contrary, I should have concluded that this was not weakness," he whispered to her in lowered tone. "You (for who else could it have been?) entirely saw through this façade that is almost ingrained in me. What you saw in the lake is perhaps the most honest...form of myself, I suppose. It is more, though, so much more. It is that I...I love you unconditionally, Rowena, if you would have me."

Her smile threatening to be permanently etched on her face, she replied joyously with, "I most certainly would. And I love you back, Salazar, beyond any words."

He stroked her hair until his hand reached the top of her head, where her diadem sometimes was during the day. "Even whilst wearing your diadem?"

She laughed. "Even then, for love in its purest, truest form can come only once."

"Ah, so it can. So it can," he murmured, with ardent delight laced in his words as he kissed her. Closing her eyes to savor this moment, Rowena kissed back without regret and without logic's interference. The manner in which he humbly suggested that he would be her suitor could not have been said more sincerely.

She relaxed in his warm embrace, tasting his lips that were quite familiar to her at this point. Meanwhile, Salazar could breathe easier now that he could officially claim mysterious, witty, intelligent Rowena Ravenclaw as his. Together, they basked in a euphoria that would not fade any time soon.

"I love you," he repeated, his voice low and deep with affection.

She softly touched his face, as though memorizing each and every curve and contour. "And I could never think of anyone worthier of my love. Salazar, although we may quarrel, I adore you too much to remain angry with you."

"And I with you." He looked down at her, allowing himself to smile.

One was clever. One was cunning. But, both would breathe the same air and love the same way. They were complete in each other's eyes as well as their own.

* * *

**A/N: ****Aw! About time, right? Yeah, I thought so. XD Anyway, the firewhiskey part...got no idea where that came from other than it was improv. And I noticed my mistake on the made-up dragon. Sunfire...Ugh, Pontiac Sunfire. I named the dragon after a frickin' car by mistake! Ah, well, who cares?**

**See you next week.**


	21. A Holiday

**A/N: ****There you go, a Christmas chapter two months after Christmas. XD Look, I had originally written this on Christmas Eve, so it kinda counts. Kinda. XD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

* * *

**Chapter 21: A Holiday**

All four founders had contrasting styles of teaching in order to run their classes, yet all four succeeded in expanding the students' knowledge. Godric tended to oversee mock duels among the students; Helga ensured that she spent a few days on each particular lesson; Rowena often turned to books from the library as her guide; and Salazar observed and corrected while choosing favorites. Like their methods, each had differing opinions on them, whether complimentary or constructive.

"Fine work teaching, I daresay, Rowena. Salazar proved insightful in choosing you. However, I wouldn't squander my time in the library. Apply what you know."

"Aye, Godric, I will be sure to stray from books…eventually."

"By the by," Rowena would add during the afternoon once they had all dismissed classes. "Helga, you are most helpful and benevolent toward all the students. Tis a noteworthy, wonderful quality deserving of recognition. I see no flaws in your method."

Helga would titter away into her hand. "Oh, Ro, please! I believe that the rest of us have fared excellently. But, Salazar, your insistence on picking favorites..."

"Tis not overly noticeable," Salazar would dismiss, snorting carelessly. "If some of _my _students just so happen to exceed in my Potions class..."

In order to admonish him, Rowena would click her tongue. "Oh, do be quiet, Salazar. No need to give us a lecture."

And always she would say something like this to tease her current beau, who knew not to be offended by her scolding. He would merely smirk at her but would come up with something witty afterwards to retaliate. Oddly enough, their battle of words would often end in a searing kiss. Both of them claimed that this was used simply as a tactic to silence each other. Secretly, in their heart of hearts, they knew otherwise. How could they properly exchange such clever words when they mainly concentrated on their lips? Godric and Helga, very much aware of the relationship blossoming between Rowena and Salazar, could only laugh and smile at their two lovestruck friends. Overall, it was quite a happy time at Hogwarts.

Upon the nearness of the holiday (for three months simply flew by, especially with all of them thus preoccupied with their work), the founders mutually agreed on giving their students a fortnight to spend the Christmas holiday with their families. Also, they themselves felt that they had earned a well-deserved break. One particular evening, Helga merrily hummed as she placed certain objects in her traveling bag. She planned on spending Christmas Day with the Hufflepuff brood in Wales, which she incessantly talked about with Rowena.

"The Hufflepuff Christmas feast is simply not to be missed. I am most eager to reunite with my kith and kin. I would marry, if Hogwarts wasn't my one true love."

Rowena laughed, empathizing with her friend's excitement. "Hogwarts would be on a higher pedestal than a man."

At least to Helga, she slyly thought with a lingering smile. Though for the longest while, she had considered being wed to her work as well. If Salazar hadn't proven himself to be the insistent, obstinate suitor he was...And yet she felt forever grateful toward him.

As though reading her thoughts, Helga smiled teasingly. "But, ah, perhaps it is no longer so for you, dear Ro. It is clear that Salazar has won your heart."

"Indeed he has," she admitted softly, without a trace of embarrassment. "It is almost a blessing that my family told me they would be dining with the family of Lucrecia's betrothed."

"Why say you so? Are you not joining them?"

Rowena shook her head, though it had been a difficult decision to make on her part that she couldn't be there. "I would have...but then I thought of Salazar. He lost both of his parents by the time he became a man. He has no family. It is truly no matter for my part. I would have been horrendously dull at this particular Christmas feast."

"Oh no, do not speak of such things! But, I do understand why you shall remain here. Godric is to see loved ones as well. He will be with his wife and closest relations this Christmastide."

"Married?" Rowena perked up a curious brow, for she hadn't thought that such a rambunctious man like Godric would ever settle.

"Aye, this past year. Quite the happy couple. Well, I am off. Wales is further away than you may presume. Take care, Rowena. And a happy Christmas to you!"

"Happy Christmas to you as well, Helga!" Rowena called back as her dear friend bustled out of the room, making haste toward the Hufflepuff carriage that pulled up outside. What a merry, joyous occasion it was along with her absolute favorite time of year. And she would have loved to spend it with her family. But, she felt that Salazar required companionship for this holiday at the very least, considering his lack of relations. The other people he had become acquainted with over the years were dreadful aristocrats. Simply, Rowena would be at his side to convince him to enjoy Christmas for once in his dreary life. Merlin knew how much he needed it.

As she observed that golden carriage moving toward the twilit horizon, she smiled, perfectly complacent to stay with Salazar.

* * *

Rowena savored the meat she daintily put in her mouth, ensuring that she would taste its succulent flavor.

"Ah, not even the servants at Eaglewood could have roasted a Christmas goose quite like this. The house elves have certainly outdone themselves this time," she remarked to the man sitting across from her. He appeared to be nowhere near as enthused.

Salazar merely nodded in his brisk manner. "Aye, the goose is quite good."

Only a "quite good"? And if she could, she would have tried fishing a "very delicious" comment out of him. That was regretfully not to be.

In regards to the elaborate Christmas dinner, Rowena had attempted to prevent it from taking place by persuading the house elves to take a day off. Those poor, overworked creatures were positively terrified over the mere thought. Some of them had promptly burst into tears, groveling at her feet as they begged her to behave mercifully toward them. Reluctantly, she had agreed with them. For, she knew they would refuse the articles of clothing she was willing to offer them. Besides, if the elves adored their drudgery this immensely, who was she to spoil it?

"Mmm...And the fig pudding tastes sublime, does it not?"

"...Not particularly, Rowena."

Hmph! She wondered why Salazar had been acting strangely all day.

Indeed, throughout the whole day, he insisted on creating excuses as to why he wasn't willing to partake in this holiday-themed activity or that. He was especially adamant about not placing Yule logs in the fireplaces, so Rowena had to perform that task by herself. And now, he utterly despised the dinner, judging by the blank, almost bored expression on his face. However, she thought devilishly, there was one thing that he surely could not avoid. Gifts. Why? Well, as clever as she usually was, she had managed to hang the goodie-filled stockings by the burning fire in Godric's common room while he had been out trudging in the snow. She planned on giving him the gift she had in store for him, whether he would accept it or not. After all, Rowena was just as stubborn as he, her polar opposite, could be.

"Enough of this dinner then," she announced to seemingly no one, though all the dishes soon vanished from sight. "Let us repose in Godric's tower room."

"Why ever there?" Salazar asked flatly, proving that he had no desire to do so.

"Tis a surprise! And if you do not follow, you shalt not receive it."

Sighing from weariness of this accursed day for the blithering idiots, he knew that he could not deny his beloved. Despite his hatred for today, he wished to maintain her blissfulness, for he would be loath to be the cause of possible feminine weeping. So, reluctantly, he strode alongside her toward the main stairway. He bleakly pondered over this wretched surprise.

If that lovely yet still irrevocably obstinate woman had made it snow upstairs, he would be most displeased. Holiday cheer was degrading, and he swore that Rowena stayed with him out of pity and not the pure intention of wanting him as a companion. It was preposterous that she should remain here and not with her family, whereas he, with so few known living relations, had no choice in the matter. Perhaps he envied her for having her options.

By the time they reached the tower and given the password at the fat lady's portrait (_Canis lupus_, as a matter of fact), Salazar smiled slightly upon witnessing no magical snow on the floor. But...Oh Merlin, the dratted laundry over the fireplace! What ruse was this?

Rowena's smile was far too beguiling. "I see you have noticed the stockings Helga and I have sewn."

The two women resolved to stitch these stockings as soon as early November, for they both knew (especially Rowena) that sewing was tedious, frustrating labor. Each stocking hung by the fireplace displayed each founder's House colors and embroidered initials. Helga jokingly suggested stitching each founder's family crest as well, but Rowena flatly said "nay" with pursed lips and pale, stricken countenance. As of now, the Christmas stockings were stuffed with small trinkets that all the members, excluding Salazar, had filled. The reason being, Godric alluded to the two young women, was that it was to be the Potions master's first Christmas. As a friend who held his best interests at heart, Godric did not wish for Salazar to respond with rage.

Nonetheless, unbeknownst to the others, Master Slytherin selected gifts for his friends as a sign of his gratitude. Of course, none would be aware until he gave Rowena her gift and Helga and Godric their gifts once they returned.

"I never heard of such a thing as stockings for Christmas before," he commented in wonderment, glimpsing upon his green stocking with silver trim. "Did you stitch this?"

In the meantime, Rowena seated herself on the blanketed couch and fiddled with the diadem perched on her head. "Is it so obvious? For, it did turn out quite horrendously."

"Quite the contrary." Salazar smiled half-heartedly before sitting next to her.

Settling themselves quite comfortably, intimately close to each other, they watched the crackling flames on the Yule log. Inexplicably, the fire seemed brighter than usual and more intense in its heat. A sense of romance warmed Rowena's heart as she looked up toward Salazar, who was intent on his contemplation.

She felt the urge to tell him a Christmas family recollection of sorts. "I remember when I was a little girl, my sister and I would both believe that St. Nicholas had come to fill our stockings the night previous. Once we discovered our gifts, we would both argue over who received the best ones. For, since we were young, we did have a tendency to quarrel over such matters."

A true smile less likely to fade appeared on his lips. "And did my Rowena gain the upper hand in these debates?"

His! He had called her his! An overwhelming joy swelled throughout her entire being that it was almost tangible. She laughed as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"No one would triumph in the end, in all honesty. Mother and Father had had to distract us with the prospect of our relations arriving."

When Salazar chuckled gently as well, Rowena gazed into his green-flecked gray eyes and noticed genuine fondness for her in them. In that respect, she had changed him. He was vastly more open to laughing along with her. As he inwardly prepared to share his tale, however, his smile faded and the gleam in his eyes died. Privately, he dreaded revealing a fragment of his family history—his past—with her. She could spurn him at any moment.

"The existence of Christmas was unknown to me until I was five years of age, when five winters had elapsed. And that was merely to hear my father tell me that that particular holiday was not to be celebrated. I was to do as I pleased as long as I didn't disturb him. There were no Yule logs, no wreaths, no garlands...not a single trapping to be found at wretched old Greystone."

She listened to the slow, rhythmic beating of his heart, clasping his hand firmly in hers. "Oh, Salazar, that must have been a dreadful experience for you as a child."

Salazar snorted. "No pity should be taken on me. There was no love I could find in that castle."

But, he had her love now, and that was all that mattered in the world. It could help him weather through any trials. He rested his chin on her head for comfort.

Soon, she became angry on his behalf. "If _that king _hadn't been such a tyrant..."

"Hush," he murmured into Rowena's ear, embracing her lovingly. "The last words my father ever spoke to me were not only true but kind. Though he fought hard all his life to cast me aside, he still loved me...somewhere in his twisted heart."

At first, Rowena slightly recoiled from his arms, expecting him to berate her for disrespecting Ignatius' memory. Instead, he faintly smiled to assure her all was well before kissing her forehead. They remained like that until...

"Enough of this. I need to lift your spirits, I can see that." She stepped toward his stocking.

With a crafty smirk playing on his lips, Salazar tried peering over her shoulder and using Legilimency to penetrate her thoughts. But, she had blocked her mind to him. She improved with her Occlumency by the day. Twas a shame...

"I would advise that you close your eyes. I need not be persuaded to blindfold you."

How degrading! He sighed, "Very well, if this is absolutely..."

Rowena laughed in response, and he soon knew why. "You may open your eyes now. It wasn't going to take long in the slightest. I was only taunting you."

"You trickster...Oh."

Failing to notice that the gift had been pressed into his hand, Salazar glanced down.

It was exquisite and precisely what he requested as well, albeit off-handedly to Rowena one day whilst discussing their classes. He had referred to a certain knife of his that he had been using to chop and cut potion ingredients. Its blade had gotten dull with age, relatively useless for his devices as of late. What he held in his hand now was something he felt that he almost didn't deserve. Not only was the blade perfection, but the handle was particularly carved. It was made of a rich ebony wood with carvings of two serpents intertwined and the letter "S" above them. Rowena must have visited a craftsman for this, a rather skilled one at that. His face broke into the widest smile she had yet seen from him.

"My first Christmas gift," he murmured, allowing his eyes to travel along the sharp edges of the knife's blade. "I never dreamed someone would bestow to me something that is...so thoughtful. Thank you, Rowena."

She smiled modestly, though her eyes delightfully glowed. "I did hear you remark in passing on how much you needed a new one. I purchased it at the nearest village and went to a craftsman who specialized in wood carving. I hope it will be useful to you."

As Salazar traced the "S" on the handle, he replied, "Any gift from you makes it all the more useful."

Not only was he Parseltongued, Rowena thought to herself, he was certainly silver-tongued as well. It never ceased to amaze her how much he cared about the simpler things regarding her. He had meant it intentionally when he said he loved her.

As he draped an arm around her shoulders, Rowena found that she was content and in a place she knew to be right. In his arms, with his heartbeat at her ear, she found peace and a sense of comfort.

She was somewhat shocked when Salazar told her, "I also have a gift for you. This."

He gave her a tiny phial filled with a potion the color of melted gold. Rowena admired how it reflected the light and flames of the fire and was quite thrilled to realize that this was Felix Felicis, the luck potion.

"I have mastered brewing it at last." He attempted to veil the eagerness in his voice but was quite unsuccessful. "Twas one of the few potions I wished to create as a child yet could not for the complicated recipe. Now that I have it, I decided to give some to you."

If it was a potion he yearned for all his life, surely, he would have kept all of the quantity to himself. How kind of him to allow her to receive some for Christmas.

"Salazar...you did not have to..."

He held her even closer to him. "It was no trouble, my dear. I would have brewed a potion that would have improved your intelligence, but you needn't be in possession of that. For, your knowledge is vast and needs no expansion."

As she touched her diadem, Salazar gazed pointedly at it. "Nor do you need that blasted thing."

"But, I...require it for teaching my classes. I...ah...need to be the best at what I do."

And so that sense of insecurity Rowena harbored finally came to light, which quite embarrassed her. All the more reason for him to hold her more dotingly.

"There is no need of it, Rowena," he whispered gently. "No need at all."

He kissed her lips, cradling her face in his hands as he did so. What a perfect Christmas this had been, she thought as she kissed back. To have this man beside her near the fireplace was all she could wish for as a true gift. Could he be more idyllic in his wooing?

In her ear, he said huskily, "I would advise to use the potion sparingly. May you be fortuitous when you do partake in it. That is what I wish for you."

"You are too kind to me," Rowena commented with a smile.

He smirked in an almost tender way. "I am aware."

Thus, they spent the night on that couch, kissing and holding each other until sleep overtook them both.

* * *

**A/N: ****I blame this on watching Beauty and the Beast: The Enchanted Christmas about a month and a half ago on TV. XD Thus, why this chapter was probably fluffier than usual. Oh well, you guys probably don't mind at all. It was just something I wanted to write, because I really, honestly was in the Christmas spirit this year.**

**However, I say no comment about V-Day. Just...no.**

**Hope you liked this chapter!**


	22. Year's Progress

**A/N: ****Hey, guys! I would have updated sooner if I could have typed faster. Thing is, I wasn't so sure if I could type that fast yesterday, since my left hand (could have been worse, it could have been the right) got hit really hard by a dodgeball. I cried for some reason, but that's how bad it stung. ANYWAY...I'm thinking this chapter is fitting, since V-Day is only in two days. Though I'm not a big fan of the holiday, this chapter should suffice. Besides, it's a romance story, right? XD Well, slightly more than that, but yeah.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

* * *

**Chapter 22: Year's Progress**

June already, Salazar thought as he watched his last class of the day (for the year until September, he added to himself) concocting the last potion. Yes, their classes had received plenty of days off, what with winter holiday, the weekends, and nights spent at home on a weekly basis. However, the other three decided that a summer holiday was needed for the children to be with their families longer along with the founders planning for next year. They required that time. Once again, Salazar had disagreed, always the only one to say nay. Perhaps he behaved in too contrary a fashion, but as far as he saw it, he constantly practiced his magic through these lazy summer months. His father had ordered him to hone his skills, so they should have done likewise with the students.

Salazar kept his resentment in check by letting his eyes stray to the hourglass on his desk. A few more minutes, classes would conclude for these far too lucky children. Children...This brought him to another thought that lurked in the back of his mind. Would he ever produce an heir? But, a marriage would have to be arranged for that to happen, if he wished to go about it properly. Rowena could...would...

Nay, the school must come first, as they had vowed themselves. If he had no heir, it would hardly bother him in the slightest. Even in death, Ignatius must be ignored.

"A good summer to you all," he told his class, the last grains of sand falling to the bottom of the hourglass.

The cheering of exhilarated students could be heard from seemingly every corner of the castle, for they relished in having entire months at their disposal. As he watched them depart, one by one, a young Muggle boy stopped to speak with him.

"Though the others may not have liked you…exactly…you were my favorite teacher, Master Slytherin."

It was a rather flattering compliment, and Salazar would have even thanked him, if a troubling vision hadn't interfered. For a moment, the child's face seemed to distort into a jeering, mocking expression. A fist (so small yet powerful) lifted toward the taller man's face, according to his imagination. Then, the shame, the agony...

He inclined his head out of habit. "Odd, I suppose then. Away with you now, Master Francis."

For Merlin's sake, those blasted Muggles would be the death of him yet, he fiercely assured himself as he mounted the dungeon steps. Godric, proudly striding toward him with a friendly grin on his face, embraced him once he appeared. Indeed, Godric was a most affectionate friend and preferred to wear his big, giving heart on his sleeve. The founders collectively got along partially due to his generosity and his willingness to bring as many people as possible together. That was what was so winning about him, Salazar decided while smirking at how enthusiastic this embrace was. He acted as the patriarch of Hogwarts, the ideal father that Salazar never had. Their friendship had become deeply rooted, binding them together.

Holding his very good friend at arm's length, Godric proclaimed, "I do declare, my jolly good friend, that this first year of teaching has been a fruitful venture."

"Aye, tis surprising that concerned parents did not protest against this."

"Well—" And here, Godric good-naturedly winked. "We masqueraded as Muggle schoolteachers, informing the families that we taught history and Latin and French and all that rubbish."

Chuckling from learning of this ruse, for he hadn't participated, Salazar replied, "Only you would idealize such a masterful trick, my friend. It shall be intact for generations to come."

Satisfied with the positive response this borderline boasting created, Godric simply patted him roughly on the shoulder. "The credit does not entirely belong to me, as you well may know. I expanded on an idea that Rowena thought up."

How intelligent Rowena was. She never ceased to entrance him with her wit and mind that were ever quite keen. Then again, Salazar knew this as an overstated fact, but this made her even more his equal. It pleased him to be reminded of the knowledge that he found the one he was destined to be with.

"Of course. I told you she would be of use to us."

"Especially to you, eh, old chap?" Godric winked again.

Salazar failed to conceal his smile. "She is more than merely useful then. Indeed she is..."

Coincidentally, during his reflections on how much he was irreversibly enamored by her, Rowena and Helga laughed together while they descended the staircase. Reduced to acting like schoolgirls, they could not stop giggling until they came to him and Godric. Another reason why Salazar would remain in love with her: her laughter, as melodic as the chiming of bells. When she approached him, he shamelessly rested his arm on her shoulders.

"I am amazed that our rumor-mongering students have not perceived that two of their teachers are being more than mere colleagues." Godric grinned, chuckling.

"They only believe in maintaining their dignity, I assume," Helga told him, smiling brightly.

Rowena nodded, though gazed at Salazar with adoring eyes. "Helga, naturally, we would."

What a successful, wonderful year it had been for all of them! She finally had the chance to teach a classroom of attentive students who were exceedingly bright for their age. Not only them, but the ones in their exchanged classes as well, so that they were all sufficiently taught. In addition to this, she had mustered the ability to tutor and interact with the children. And she never thought she would be adept at the socializing aspect. Most of all, she discovered love with its beauty and its joys. The manner in which Salazar metaphorically gave his heart to her still seemed like one exquisite dream she cherished.

More romantic moments had been shared between them long after that fateful Yule holiday. He remembered her birthday, and she ensured to memorize the exact date of his. Though it was eccentric for him to request a lock of her hair, she bestowed him with four locks of her brunette tresses on his birthday. She would hardly forget in her lifetime how his lovely eyes gleamed, enamored with her gift to him. She wondered where he kept them. No matter, all she knew without her diadem (for it could not grant her foresight, for she hadn't the Eye) was that nothing could separate her and her Salazar now. Yes, she referred to him as hers, for he liked it that way, too. As far as both of them were concerned, they belonged to each other, whether in their arms or in their eyes. Oh, what a year!

Rowena was drawn out of her reverie when Salazar added to what she said earlier, "And Helga, do you believe that we would kiss with the children present?"

Helga shook her head while Godric nodded sagely, commenting, "Indeed, you bring up a valid point, Sal. Why bother to blazon their young minds with that image? A Parseltongue of yours must be utilized in—"

"Oh, Godric, you embarrass us!" Rowena exclaimed, giggling while hiding her face in her hands in a not so discreet manner. Reddened with true embarrassment, she could tell that the others stared laughingly at her. Hm, well, if Godric hadn't dared to be so bold...He was the married one, so who was he to speak of their intimacy?

Nonetheless, the four of them had become quite close with one another to the point that teasing was almost a constant in their everyday lives. Godric especially delighted in serving as a pain to his friends, what with his numerous jokes. His favorite target had been the reality of Rowena and Salazar's coupling as of late.

Presently, he showed he meant no harm by adjusting her diadem. "Do not fret, Ro, tis only in good fun. Besides, if I cannot contain myself in this place, I know not where else. My wife, fair Irene, can tolerate me for quite some time. Doubtless even she has the patience of a saint, and so I resolved to harmlessly torment all of you each day."

How kind, Salazar thought sardonically, but in a sort of watered-down, milder variant of his normally biting sarcasm. Perhaps he could place the blame on these three truly brilliant people for molding him into someone less vicious, less wont to be needlessly withering. Hogwarts was home to him, of that he knew for certain. He owed it to the people he had spent these past few months with, the people he had come to care for. In a heart so cold and embittered from childhood neglect, he hardly anticipated to have it be warmed by anybody. Yet, within a single year, he had solidified friendships that he was confident would endure throughout many more years. And one relationship in particular had thawed him the most, making him the happiest man on earth. Rowena had been nothing but loving and kind toward him. For that, he was grateful.

In turn, Salazar slapped Godric on the back good-naturedly, smirking as he murmured slyly, "Frankly, Godric, I do believe that you have abased Rowena far more than I. She is quite sensitive to—"

"I most certainly am not!" Rowena protested with some feigned indignation. "Helga and I are not accustomed to speaking of such...such vulgar, I suppose..."

"Vulgar? I think not if it is the truth," Salazar lightly teased her, embracing her from behind.

At times, his wit was sharper compared to hers and resulted in Rowena smiling to the extent that she could not come back with a rebuttal. This was one of those now not-so-rare moments in time in which she could laugh at herself. They complemented each other well.

As he kissed her neck, she confidently told him, "I confess that you are superb at kissing. That is one of your many shining qualities as a lover."

A moment of blissful laughter later, Helga suggested, "Let us not dwell on Godric's jest. Let us celebrate the end of a magnificent school year by holding a feast in the school's honor. And perhaps a bit of wine with the food."

"You are the only one of us to think of food at a time like this, Helga." Rowena giggled cheerfully. "Nevertheless, it is a fitting idea to celebrate. I am for it."

"To the Great Hall then!" Godric led the short way to the expansive hall.

For this occasion, the food wasn't magically delivered to their dishes immediately. Instead, Helga watched the house elves happily and busily cooking the entrées and the appetizers and the desserts. She hardly minded keeping herself thus occupied by bringing out each course using the golden cup. Inside the cup, there was the food, and soon the founders witnessed its magical properties. Once it was emptied, it would refill of its own accord without the elves seemingly intervening, which awed the other three. How could the cup be charmed to do such a thing, especially since food out of thin air was impossible? As it turned out, the elves and Helga cooperated together to make this possible, and no food came from the air. As a general rule, such a happenstance (even by fantastical means) could never occur.

At one point, toward the end of the meal, Godric held up his silver wine goblet to raise everyone else's attention. Salazar was the most alert, smirking with satisfaction as to how his prediction turned out. Leave it to Godric to celebrate an anniversary through drink. It reminded him so much of when he first made the man's acquaintance and how he heartily toasted to the future of a then unnamed school. Now that it had been named, he would do it again. This sentimentality was touching, even Salazar could admit that. Meanwhile, the two women smiled out of anticipation.

"To Hogwarts and to those—who I now consider dear, great friends—for founding it. Indeed, I resolved to have one built, but I could not have accomplished this without you all. To many more years of success."

Nodding approvingly at the heartfelt words that Godric told them, Salazar was the first to raise his goblet as well. "Aye, to Hogwarts' future."

"To the future." Rowena soon followed suit.

"To friendship," Helga said, smiling agreeably at her cherished friends.

For, they loved each other dearly and knew that such friendships could only strengthen over time. It was only natural. Together, they would ensure that Hogwarts would become a respectable institution for children with magical abilities. With friendship, this goal would be unstoppable without much complication.

In the evening hours, instead of being shut up doing embroidery as her more domestic confidante Helga did, Rowena strolled about the grounds. Just as she had one Michaelmas night at age sixteen, she allowed her hair to be loose. There was a certain freedom about something as simple as this that made her feel at ease. It wasn't as though she was discomforted today, however. No, the last day of school could not have fared better. And to hold a feast in honor of such a feat as maintaining the school for one year thus far! She could hardly imagine being any happier than she was at this moment. Birds sung their final evening tunes before they would settle down for the night. Closing her eyes, Rowena could hear just how exultant they sounded. She felt moved enough to sing as well.

"Then, by all means, do so. Perhaps you are exceedingly talented at that along with everything else," a charming voice interrupted her thoughts.

Her smile widened into a grin as she turned around. "My singing ability is lacking, and I am most assuredly not talented at everything. Potions remains my undoing."

Salazar strode toward her, though his smile faltered with seriousness. "Why do you demean yourself, my love, by belittling your potential? Or at the very least your talents."

Her hand resting upon her chest, Rowena attempted to still her wildly beating heart that had yet to stop pounding every time he was near. And with such words as his, they could easily pass for well-written prose. In that respect, he was almost too perfect.

Choosing to look out over the sparkling lake that Hogwarts overlooked, she murmured truthfully, "You see so much in me that I am unable to see in myself at times. Perhaps tis your Legilimency, but...you fascinate me, Salazar. How can you know me better than I do?"

She laughed slightly, though ashamed of this insecurity she expressed. She did not know why half the time she was this self-deprecating. Unless it was the high expectations she set for herself rather than an inferiority complex...Once Rowena discovered this realization, she sensed warm hands lightly descending onto her shoulders.

The remnants of the fading sunlight reflected in his wondrously beautiful green-gray eyes, and she could see the full depth of his sincerity for her.

"Love is what causes one to observe the minutest of details. I know when your eyes are going to glow when I am finished saying something clever. I know how you will smile modestly whilst I pay you a compliment. And...I can nearly predict whenever you wish to kiss me. But, I am also aware that you are the most intelligent, the most beautiful, and the most genteel witch I myself have met. There is no need to better yourself. I see you as you are and how you should perceive yourself."

That...That surely must have been the kindest, most romantic sentiment anyone had ever addressed to her. The modest smile he spoke of settled onto her lips as she looked intently at him.

How could he have possibly become this caring and loving toward her within a year? For once moved beyond words, she closed her eyes again as soon as he stroked her hair, his favorite habit with her. She loved him. She loved him so deeply that she believed that he was destined to be her soul mate.

"Although," Salazar added, a somewhat devilish smirk tugging at his lips, "I could solve your issue with Potions. I will teach you everything I know over the summer, if you so desire for me to aid you. If you are not too prideful."

Rowena smirked in return when his arms wrapped around her waist. "Not to worry, Salazar, I put aside my pride long ago."

She enjoyed the prospect of being under the tutelage of not only a great potions master but a lover as well. By far, the best part of this year had been tearing down this man's barriers to find out who he truly was. As he basically told her, she remained certain that she would prefer him as he was. Frankly, she wouldn't dare ask him to change, especially with their mock quarrels and taunts. That was something to be shared between two people in love. And it was one of the better components of their romance.

"A year has passed since Hogwarts began," Salazar pointed out in a softened tone. "And I would never have believed that something else would begin as well—something to last forever."

Their embrace tightening, Rowena stepped even intimately closer to him to hear contently and patiently what he would say to her. What he told her next was to be memorable.

Sighing against her hair, he ensured that he would never let her go in the meantime. "Rowena, I thank you for accepting me into your heart...as I have fully accepted you into mine. Your true nature appeared to me these months past, and it is pure beyond words. You are my love, my soul, my heart...everything."

"If only I could be half as eloquent as you...but words fail me. All I will say is that you are everything to me as well, Salazar. That shall never alter from this day on."

Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin held each other for as long as they could before walking side by side back to the school. Hogwarts and love...It was a year that made everything come true.

* * *

**A/N: ****I decided that, as a writer, I'll not give anything away, not even specific parts. By this, I mean foreshadowing. There's all sorts of it in this chapter, and that's all I will say about that. It's like looking through a Where's Waldo book, only less complicated. XD K, don't know where that came from but whatever. But, the foreshadowing is what turns into pivotal things in later chapters.**

**Outside the story, dang, I can't believe how much attention it's gotten! Thanks for all your reviews, everyone! XD It seems like the stories I don't expect to do all that well turn out to be received OK.**

**Uh...have a Happy V-Day, I guess, though I personally despise the holiday.**


	23. Of Sorting Hats

**A/N: Hey, guys, happy Friday! XD As for me, I'm relieved that the weekend is here, because this week has been especially hellish for me. I don't want to get into it, it's something on the kind of sobering side of things. But, here's this chapter that occupied me in typing it up from the notebook I have, and that was pretty much my way of coping. Granted, I got a huge headache afterwards, but I think it was worth it. Especially since the next chapter is going to be massive.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 23: Of Sorting Hats**

And so, two years elapsed in which Hogwarts gradually became a widely known, respectable wizardry school among wizardkind. Positive word of mouth from those purebloods with children attending spread throughout the country. The number of children had grown compared to that first year. All the founders took pride in that monumental success of Hogwarts. However, they occasionally found ways with which to occupy the idle time they did have. Dueling had especially been a favorite.

"_Stupefy_!" Salazar shouted, his voice loud and clear and departing from the usual quiet murmur he spoke with.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Godric bellowed in turn, heavily concentrated on winning this duel.

As witnesses, Helga and Rowena avidly looked on, wondering over who would come out the victor in this particular challenge. Both men were exceedingly skilled at magical dueling. Godric was renowned as an expert in that field, thus the purpose of his teaching Defense against the Dark Arts. He even possessed a goblin-wrought sword that he carried around strictly for decoration. According to him, in his adolescent years, he had defended goblins from rather dodgy men who would have destroyed and looted their village otherwise. Out of an uncharacteristic gratitude toward him, the goblins crafted the sharpest, finest sword for miles around. Despite this tale, the founders were doubtful as to whether that was the exact origin of the weapon or not.

And Rowena had only defeated Salazar twice in all the times they had mock battled together. As to the speculation of him granting her these victories, he would enigmatically smile at her when she inquired about the matter. It must have been the case, for Godric always won against her. She and Helga were even in their dueling skills, with Rowena having the upper hand most of the time. Out of all these various match-ups amongst them, the ones between Salazar and Godric were arguable the most captivating to watch. Two different methods of fighting from two vastly different people...Yes, it was very engaging to see. Jets of red, silver, and yellow light among other colors flashed back and forth as spells were shouted. This display intrigued the two women who dared not speak while all this was going on.

It was one of the few times in which Salazar constantly moved, rather briskly and adeptly. Rowena found her gaze transfixed pointedly at him. Godric and he were nearly at a deadlock with each other.

Finally, though, it ended with one single spell, the cleverest one to choose.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

The Full Body-Bind, of course, and it was very effective in catching an opponent off his guard. Godric had cast this spell, causing Salazar to ungracefully topple to the stone floor. How uncomfortable it was to crash onto the flagstones in this manner. Stuck in this position, Salazar panted wearily from such strenuous dueling.

For a few fleeting seconds, he felt irked at Godric for placing this humiliating, undignified curse on him. How could he have been duped to let his guard down for even a brief moment? Then, the resentment passed as he sensed the counter-curse being cast on him. Thank Merlin that he wouldn't remain paralyzed for the rest of the day.

Grinning with that friendly, easygoing manner that so fit his disposition, Godric offered his hand to help Salazar up. "You did well, Sal. If I hadn't thought my spell up at the last minute, I swear that you would have had me beat."

"I am certain that I would have, Godric," Salazar assured, chuckling out of a relatively improved mood.

Rowena and Helga walked over to the two men in the meantime, eagerly discussing with them the details of the duel. However, the former turned toward her beloved after a few spare minutes of this animated discourse. She smiled, yet her anxiety revealed itself.

"Are you all right, love?" she asked gently, eerily echoing the exact concern that Salazar had shown her those two years ago. "I hope that Godric hasn't...injured you."

He complacently returned her smile, which was a far simpler thing now than it had been. "Only a duel, Rowena, and it certainly could not wound me too severely. Besides, if memory serves, I thought you would unceremoniously not make such ado."

Resting her hand on his shoulder, she responded with, "I merely am concerned. Even if I haven't the right."

Godric grinned as he usually did, for he always seemed to carry this perpetual merriness at all times. Someone who lusted for life as he did could always find something worth being positively joyous over. He placed a hand on each of his friends' shoulders.

"I would not harm Salazar, Ro, since you two are by far perfectly harmonious together. I believe tis time to forget our duels and take a turn about the grounds, the four of us. I shall retrieve my hat. _Accio hat_!"

An awkwardly stitched hat that was somewhat pointed at the top and oddly mottled promptly flew to Godric's hand. It was what was called a Glaswegian hat, an item that he had stitched himself. Due to his lack of domestic expertise, it was painfully clear.

Before the hat was sewn up, Godric had considered having such a possession like it. At first, he wondered whether he should request such a thing for the holiday season or not. But, one day, he realized it would exceed in its uniqueness if he should make it himself. And so, trying his hand at embroidery for the first time, he gathered all sorts of scraps and put them together to make up the Glaswegian hat. Though the stitches were glaringly gigantic (which Rowena felt relieved at, considering she claimed to be a poor embroider), he took pride in his many patched hat nonetheless. Yes, whenever Godric as so much as ventured outside Hogwarts, his hat was ever present.

Salazar shook his head at how ecstatic his friend appeared. "Merlin, Godric, you look wholly ridiculous."

Setting his hat proudly upon his had at a jaunty angle, the relatively easygoing man guffawed. "And what if I do?"

"There is no rhetoric about it, my friend, only spoken truth."

"Well, you see, I treasure this hat beyond compare. Apart from Hogwarts, I daresay sewing it has been my greatest achievement."

Helga, unsure as to how earnest he was in expressing this, attempted desperately to suppress her bout of laughter. "Now that Godric has his hat, shall we depart?"

"Yes, before Godric rants further about it," Rowena whispered lowly to Salazar as an inside joke, though it wasn't intended to be mean-spirited. Her beau chuckled gently.

The group of founders walked companionably alongside each other, conversing about their plans for the upcoming school year. Since Hogwarts had indeed been founded on a strong base of friendship, the students were quite susceptible. Bonds had been formed among the students as well as among their teachers. As Helga dubbed it, there was "such an atmosphere of love that seemed to bound everybody together." Thanks to this atmosphere, blissful days rose and set upon the school in which the founders did what they did best. And the children rarely complained about attending. On the contrary, they enjoyed returning to Hogwarts day in, day out (aside from weekends and holidays) to learn magical spells that would or would not benefit them in the long run. It was an extraordinary thing.

Eventually, they discussed what they would provide the future generations, if any of them could survive that long. This caused Godric to contemplatively touch his hat in puzzlement. Suppose none of them could live another twenty to thirty years?

Once he brought up this topic, Helga nodded. "It is certainly not an issue we bothered to piece together upon us initially planning out our school."

"Aye," Rowena added, stopping abruptly when a thought came to her. "If one of us was to fall ill, fatally ill, I fear that we would be at a loss. We could perhaps call upon physicians to aid us, but they much rather prefer to use leeches for bloodletting. And potions can only get us so far."

This sudden shift in discussion immensely disturbed Salazar as he inwardly questioned why they would talk of this. All of them, when in conversation with each other, were generally animated and quite content. He himself had been accustomed to pondering over death when he was younger. But no more. And he had these three cheerful, loving people to thank, to be forever indebted to. To visualize them in their deathbeds troubled him, giving him shudders. Helga, who had the finest palate and kindest words, gaunt as death gradually overcame her...Godric, his closest friend, would lose that energy and renowned robustness if...

And Rowena...Oh, how his heart ached at that dreadful imagery! His beautiful, glowing Rowena dying...The fact that one day (hopefully, blessedly, far off), she would appear ravaged with pain...

Seized by an intensely agonizing frustration, Salazar, who had strode somewhat ahead of the group, sharply turned on his heel. "Enough of this talk! Tis most morbid to speak of death when we have yet to reach the prime of life. We are nowhere near our twilight years! I shan't listen to this further."

Genuinely concerned for their friend, the other three founders quickened their pace to match his. They only had the welfare of Hogwarts in mind and hadn't the faintest idea just how painful the subject matter was until now. Once each of them considered it, they loathed death in all its inevitability as much as Salazar did. Not to mention he had been subjected to watch it unfold in the case of his father.

Sighing heavily, Godric murmured apologetically, "It is our fault, I agree, Sal. We only thought of Hogwarts. But, merely thinking of death is indeed morbid. I am most at fault here."

Rowena embraced the man she cared most about. "No, the fault is mine, Salazar. Know that I would hate to see you die too, as much as you would loathe seeing me die."

Helga patted him on the shoulder. "Dear, we were merely wondering how students will be picked long after we are gone. Or how it shall be run."

Hearing these comforting words from his friends, Salazar smiled faintly. "And I should have the school's best interests at heart as well."

In the meantime, an epiphany of an idea struck Godric, which ironically came approximately when he touched the battered, weather beaten, and frightfully hideous hat. It could perhaps hold all the answers...specifically as to what House each child with magical talent belonged to. His deep, rolling laugh soon brought everyone to attention.

"An idea," he clarified upon registering confused glances. "I am most fortunate that it has befallen me, before things should turn grim."

Grim? Salazar endeavored not to take offense, though he briefly asked himself if Godric implied that _he _was grim and dark and that it was something to be disdained.

Ignoring this glimmer of a skeptical thought, he asked, "And what decision have you come to?"

"The hat shall decide which House each student belongs to! Is it not ingenious?"

While Salazar considered this idea too whimsical and eccentric, Rowena deemed it a brilliant one. With a charmed hat, all of their problems would be solved.

She nearly burst with exhilaration when she exclaimed, "Wonderful, Godric! I know what charms we shall cast on it."

"And perhaps we shall do this together this time, since we could not all build Hogwarts together," Helga added, beaming.

"Ah, I am glad you both approve! What say you, Salazar?" Godric inquired, truly valuing his closest friend and co-founder's opinion the most. Meanwhile, Salazar could barely grasp the thought of some talking hat. It was sheer lunacy, even by wizard standards.

Firmly crossing his arms across his chest, he disbelievingly shook his head. "I fail to comprehend why such a wretched thing as your hat will make decisions such as this."

"My hat may not be handsome, but it surely cannot be stupid."

"...Hmph..." Salazar was at a loss and then, "That surely must be the strangest thing I have ever heard spoken. However, since I always trust your instincts"—glancing at an almost laughing Rowena—"I declare that this will be no exception. Let us charm the patched-up...thing."

Anticipating them all to stroll back to Hogwarts, he turned in that direction until he glimpsed Godric removing the hat and placing it on the ground.

Befuddled, Helga blinked at it sitting on the grass before remarking, "Are we not going to hold a ceremony at the beginning of the year for this occasion, Godric? If not that, then can we at least charm it inside the school?"

Godric chuckled. "I was never one for pomp and circumstance, Helga."

"How hypocritical of you to say that. What of that time you made that grandiose speech before we finally charmed the school?" Rowena jokingly pointed out.

"Less pomp is needed, I realized shortly after that, Rowena. Let us charm it out here."

All four raised their wands at the same time: Salazar's ebony, Rowena's willow, Helga's birch, and Godric's oak. Once Rowena whispered the certain charm to them, they cast the spell.

If the hat had eyes, it appeared as though it stared at them pointedly once the purple light hit it. Curiously, its mouth happened to be a particularly long seam, which opened as a voice inquired, "What is to be my purpose, founders four?"

"You know who we are?" Helga was dumbstruck that the hat seemed omniscient already.

"Yes, of course I know who you four are. Now tell me what it is I must do."

Godric, the one least affected by this bizarre situation, replied gleefully, "Your purpose will not be needed for many years to come...ah, yes, I shall dub thee Sorting Hat. You see, when we die, our students will certainly not be handpicked. You will do this task in order to prevent confusion a hundred years from now. In the meantime, you are not required."

The hat wrinkled its seam in concentration, assessing all the words that Godric had told it. It then appeared to acknowledge its fate.

"Very well, I shall wait until my services are needed. I must say to all of you best wishes on maintaining the school. I shall no longer talk then until absolutely necessary."

As good as its word, the Glaswegian hat fell silent, leaving all but Godric to be bewildered at what they had done. True, they had purposely charmed it to fulfill Hogwarts' needs for the next generations. But, it was so odd to bestow a normally inanimate object with speech. What was even stranger was when Godric jauntily set it on his head once more.

"Since twenty years is far off for all of us, I suppose wearing the Sorting Hat will not be objectionable. Besides, it is one of my most cherished possessions."

Salazar sighed, cautiously patting his friend on the shoulder. "Though the blasted thing can speak now, I daresay it will help us in good time."

Secretly, he would have preferred it if their heirs would have done this job instead, if not for Helga's intent on not marrying and Rowena being...Rowena. However, he would be satisfied with this hat being utilized.

Rowena lightly chided him, "Oh, come now, despite your misgivings, posterity will benefit from a patched hat. You can be sure of it, Salazar."

And yet he was uncertain on if his opinion was valued by his peers.

* * *

Once again, he failed to sleep soundly, most likely due to the fact he retired as soon as dinner concluded. How idiotic of him to think of such a thing to occupy his time with. It had certainly been an eventful day. Losing a duel, dwelling on the possibility of his friends dying too early and tragically, and learning that that ridiculous, horrendous, bloody hat was to be the judge of children's futures...These were what perplexed him and kept him awake. Salazar certainly hoped that no more of trying days like these should befall him. Without bothering to throw on his ever present cloak, he departed from his dungeon bedchamber to walk off his troubles...and perhaps even his insecurity. Had _they _not seen how speaking of the future had filled him with this anxiety? He was never this concerned.

And lately, everyone wished to follow whatever Godric suggested. That was all well and good, but wasn't it supposed to be the four of them and not one? As he mounted the steps toward the entryway to the room with the main staircase, he accidentally bumped into someone. He hoped not Godric, especially with these vile, negative thoughts and perturbed emotions. Gryffindor was still his friend, after all, even with their differences. He should not have allowed these sentiments to cross his mind! But, no, Godric hadn't been the person cloaked in shadow but Rowena. Instantly, Salazar's heart overflowed with tenderness upon seeing her.

"My dearest," he murmured, placing a kiss to her forehead. "How are you faring this eve?"

Equally glad to see him (for he had acted so exceedingly peculiar at dinner), Rowena touched his arm. "I am well, Salazar."

"Might I ask what brings you here?"

Determinedly, she blocked her mind so that he could not penetrate the recesses of her mind, as he unintentionally did now. If she told him the truth, he would be displeased. But, if she did not, the consequences would be even worse.

"I fret over you," she admitted, averting her eyes slightly from his. "You were not yourself at dinner, and it has been five hours since you retired to bed. I would not have meant to disturb you, but I did resolve to go to the dungeons to inquire into the matter."

Salazar lifted her chin with one finger. "You needn't fret, Ro. I have had much on my mind."

Despite his efforts to conceal his emotions, Rowena noticed that his normally calm, placid green-gray eyes were troubled. She also took the time to observe what he wore. He had neglected to put on a cloak and only wore a white cambric shirt and his usual black trousers. But white...such an odd color on him, though he looked quite handsome.

A light smile settled onto her lips. "I can come up with a resolution to this dilemma you have suffered through. Come."

His eyes widened in shock when her small hand took his, leading him toward his dungeons. "What in Merlin's name are you devising?"

"No need to become more flustered, Sal, I am only trying to help."

As they walked alongside each other toward his bedchamber, Rowena's hand never leaving his, she hoped to gather some answers from him. In the meantime, she recollected what happened during the day that caused him to behave erratically. It surely wasn't the duel, though she was aware Salazar was none too partial on losing. Maybe the Sorting Hat gave him great distress in putting trust in a hitherto inanimate object. No, it had to have been the conversation about Hogwarts after them.

Oh blast, he had used his Legillimency, for that warm, gentle grip on her hand slackened as he turned away. Irritated at his cowardice, she grabbed his shoulders.

"Oh no, Salazar! Even if have no Legillimency ability, I swear to you that I am convinced what you are contemplating. Do not hide from me! You, who should know you can confide in my as a lover, as a friend...Did you not say I am everything to you?"

They had entered his bedchamber at this point, and he had made no move to prevent that from happening. Presently, he gazed at her with fiery, vexed eyes.

"You are, and do not dare to question it! Yes, I have read your mind and yes, you are correct in your assumption. But, by Merlin, Rowena, I cannot _bear _for you to speak of death. I fear that I may end up seeing you die, the light in your eyes fading...Damn it all, Rowena, why did you speak of it? As someone who loves you, it pains me."

Rowena stroked his long black hair as she witnessed the truest, keenest vulnerability Salazar Slytherin had shown yet. "And I told you the truth today. I would despise seeing you suffer, Salazar. I love you. But...let us enjoy the time we do have together, no matter how long or short it will be."

His mouth fell open in shock, gasping for breath, before he embraced her tightly, flush against him. "I love you, too. And once again, you are right. How irrational I have been, how foolish. I normally live in present time—that is all. You must know."

Softly laughing, she replied, "I know everything there is to know regarding you."

Salazar kissed her slowly, ensuring to be gentle despite all these stirring emotions.

Once blue-gray eyes locked with his, innocent yet wise in their gaze, he wished to ask her something. If he was too forward, he would do nothing more.

"Have you...ah...?" he whispered discreetly. "Have you ever lain with a man before?"

Rowena was unsure if that was what she meant by enjoying their time together when the reddest blush overwhelmed her. "N—No, why?"

Smiling, he traced her lips with his fingers. "As we have established today, we live only once. You are more desirable than you realize."

He kissed her neck, seductively adding, "If I am not being too forward, I..."

To compensate for her embarrassingly blushing around him, Rowena locked her lips to his in a fierce, passionate manner. "I do not mind. Not at all."

As he undid her braid, Salazar's smile widened. "Your hair is much better loose. You are exceedingly beautiful, Rowena love, and you should know that, too."

Oh, how she would be ready to give herself to him! Their lips came together again as they gradually lay down on Salazar's bed. All the while when he carefully unbuttoned her dress, he whispered how much he loved her and how idyllic she always was.

And she placed her hands on his chest, admiring the muscles there. "If I am lacking in this, you must..."

"Shh." Salazar hushed her and touched her cheek. "I shall tell you no such thing."

That night, they surrendered to each other heart and soul, body and mind.

* * *

**A/N: Uh, yeah...that was what I would call an implied sex scene there at the end. My first one, too. Oh God, this is awkward typing this A/N up. XD But, I'm not going to be one of those authors who's going to waste entire paragraphs detailing the passionate love they made to each other. That's just not me, because I know there are others like me who are uncomfortable reading stuff like that. Besides, they're adults, they couldn't have gone on without mature adult activities for years and years on end. That's not how it works, especially back then.**

**OK, I know my foreshadowing last chapter was very subtle. So, let me direct you to some foreshadowing this chapter. For a hint or something like that, I will say that Salazar feeling underappreciated plays a huge part. **

**Until next week or sooner than that, I hope! XD**


	24. Permanent

**A/N: Hey, guys, since I have a day off today, I thought what the heck? You guys get this update a whole week early. Awesome, right? Well, maybe you'll think better once you read the material. All right, for some reason, this chapter is vaguely named after the song by David Cook, the one that's really sad and if it was any longer, I'd probably cry. But, don't worry, I ain't getting song-ficcy. I just think the chapter title suits, is all.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 24: Permanent**

And thus, a few more years passed and many more calendar pages turned with each passing month. Eager, happy children whose highlight of their childhoods was indeed attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came and went. And once they deemed themselves old enough to leave (usually by eighteen years of age), it still seemed as if the phantom of their laughter lingered in the corridors. Helga Hufflepuff, kindly and matronly as she was, always felt the loss of the students' presence the hardest. However, there was certain to be a fresh batch of new faces, and that was something to take comfort in. Godric, who had become a father himself, had also become the most popular teacher over the years. He treated every student as though he or she was his child.

Rowena increasingly interacted with the children, who saw both her and Helga as aunts or maternal figures. To see the spark in their eyes when they learned another intriguing charm hardly ever failed to delight her. "Miss Rowena" was her name among them rather than Miss Ravenclaw, as a truly astounding, wonderful man once called her. What the best part was of an ordinary school day, though, was at the end at night, when she would fall asleep in her lover's arms. Salazar had given her—no, showered her—with affection over the ten years since they all founded Hogwarts together. Despite such an extensive courtship, they did not mind not being attached through marriage in the least.

On the contrary, they had resolved to wait for the most opportune moment to wed, though neither of them said anything on the subject. True love, as far as both were concerned, did not require to be tied down by the bonds of matrimony. That was what they shared. However, while Helga motherly loved, Godric laughed with enthusiasm from his honestly blissful, worthwhile life's work, and Rowena sharpened young minds with the help of her ever keen mind, Salazar darkly brooded over his fate at times. As much as he cherished Rowena with all his heart and soul along with the pride he took in his Potions class, plans for Hogwarts' future were none to his liking. If anything, his dissatisfaction and resentment deepened with the mere suggestions that even more Muggle children should be allowed to attend.

Quite frankly, the idea repulsed but also filled him with this fear he could not divulge at all costs.

Mudbloods had to be barred from the school in order for that line to be drawn, as far as Salazar saw it. While they as magical witches and wizards could get on with their lives, the Muggles could surely remain doing their mundane tasks. It depended on when they weren't incinerating their superiors. This difference in opinion among the three founders and Salazar over the years had caused him to feel quite jaded, as though he was never heard. He even doubted Rowena could understand him any longer, when she often took the side of Helga and Godric. Soon, out of a seething fury due to these years of (according to him) being unacknowledged, he resorted to drastic measures. Absent from dinner during the evenings, he built a concealed chamber.

Upon being asked as to why he refused to eat the third meal of the day, Salazar assured his peers that he simply wasn't hungry. The others believed it, though Rowena suspected that there was something he was not telling them. When she would lightly, gently inquire into the matter before bed, he would smile half-heartedly to implore of her not to be invasive. A kiss was normally a tactic on his part to distract her, to stifle his very slight misgivings on his unfolding plot as well. For, as he would gaze into her eyes, his heart begged him to cease whatever he planned at once. But, he simply could not do it. This was for her, too.

Most of his fellow purebloods would have considered him a ruthless villain for his actions. However, maturing at ice-cold Greystone had distorted Salazar's perceptions of good and evil. Along with those two opposing forces, he was also confused over what loyalty truly meant. What he resolved to place in this clandestine chamber was what most would have presumed to be an unholy terror. He merely saw it as protecting Hogwarts, the truest home he had ever had the good fortune to reside in. How could they trust Muggles now, when they had plagued them for many centuries? No, this basilisk that he had in mind would ensure that the Mudbloods would cower in fear. This was for his kin, his brethren...and even for the undeniable love of his life.

In order to execute this shamelessly underhanded scheme, Salazar was willing to sink as low as to furtively steal a hen's egg from a Muggle farm one night. As a natural born Parselmouth, he embraced the ability by previously studying up on snakes in general. Thus, he was fully aware of everything there was to know about the ancient basilisk, originating from the times of the Greeks. Its fangs were reputed to be poisonous for the unfortunate bite victim. Its eyes could kill a person brave yet foolish enough to gaze deep into them. Yes, the basilisk was a thing of legend that then faded into mythology to the point that now, in this day and age, its existence was highly doubted. Yet, Salazar had believed in the truth all along and once hoped as a child he would see one.

He had gone one step further instead in creating one, for not only had he retrieved an egg, he had snatched a toad away as well. With an advanced charm borderline stepped in Dark Magic, he hypnotized the toad to rest on the egg within the secret chamber. His extensive book reading from his younger years proved to be to his advantage in that he learned how to raise a basilisk. Purging the world of those unworthy for the magical world would be this creature's purpose. Salazar would personally see to it. And after being unheard for these ten years, he would also ensure that his peers would live to regret this unwise choice. They would pay that price!

Soon, the false smiles to Rowena stopped as he constantly brooded over the plan that unfolded slowly when the egg hatched a fortnight later. He ignored Helga completely, disdainful of that fat woman's ever present cheerfulness. If only _she _knew what torment he would put them through...However, there was only a grim satisfaction to be taken in that rather than a vile, demented delight.

As for the close friendship with Godric, it gradually dissolved into nothing, as Salazar rejected the redhaired man's ideas the most. Admittedly, he took things personally, and that had been his tendency since nine years of age. Ever since Muggles basely pummeled him to the ground without apology. It was for them especially that he had that deadly basilisk in his cruel designs.

All of this that Salazar lived through in his remaining time here at Hogwarts came to a heated boil one night that would change all their lives forever. But, unlike the case when they first founded the school in mutual friendship, it would be for the worse.

It was a humid midsummer night in which the four of them sat comfortably in Godric's tower common room to discuss what would be done at the school for the next year. More specifically, this time was devoted to mentioning goals they wished to achieve. In impeccable harmony, the three founders spoke candidly on what they wished for their school while a surly Salazar listened in a chair furthest away from the fire. If one would have looked into his eyes at the moment, they would have seen the flames cast them with a seething glint.

Godric's own green eyes gleamed optimistically as he stood up and paced about like he always did when inspiration struck him. "It is undeniable, my good friends, that pure blood will not be as common among us as it once was. There are even less established wizarding families now than there were five hundred years ago. We must accept this change and learn to wholly embrace it. With that said, I say that we open our doors to more Muggle children. In time, there will undoubtedly be a peaceful co-existence between them and us."

"Godric Gryffindor, overly confident as always," a dark voice murmured in the back corner.

All pairs of eyes locked onto Salazar, widened with shock that he would speak so of his confidant.

Concerned that there would perhaps he a strong argument between the two men (for, the tension between them increased tenfold so that those present felt it), Helga put in her thoughts. "I am sure that may seem the case at present, Salazar dear, but—"

"Do not deny the truth, Helga," he hissed in such an unnerving manner that Rowena averted her eyes from his taut face and smoldering eyes. "Once barbarians, these Muggles shall forever be barbarians, what with their bigotry and pathetic lodgings among other ill qualities."

And then Godric's eyes flashed angrily in frustration that his friend—if he could be called _that _any more—should opt to remain the same in his views. Did he not realize that it was inevitable there would be half-bloods and Muggles for wizards in the next generations?

Approaching the targeted armchair within two long strides and straightening to his immensely tall height, Godric growled, "It is _you _who is bigoted, Salazar! Can you not realize that this is what we must do? They will be children! They, with the patience of their teachers—or so I would hope—would learn to avoid erring in ways their parents and grandparents did before them. Will blindness eternally prevail upon you?"

Abruptly, much to the women's chagrin, Salazar rose from the chair. "I could inquire the same thing of you, _Gryffindor_! The children can be as savage as their parents, and by the time they will arrive at Hogwarts, it will be utterly hopeless. They will know the teachings of the father and mother and not heed to us as their superiors."

While Helga put her hands to her mouth to stifle her gasping, Rowena shut her eyes to this, fervently praying that this was all a painful nightmare. She disbelieved the hateful words that spewed from her beau's mouth, but deep down, she knew the truth. Salazar had always held this grudging, condescending attitude toward Muggles ever since childhood, maybe since infancy. Nonetheless, she still longed for the day he would see the error of his ways and welcome this type of folk into his heart like she, Helga, and Godric did. That day would never come. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. It would never come.

"Superiors? What talk is this? We are equals, Salazar, there is no one superior!"

To counter this lie of a soft-hearted imbecile's remark, Salazar asked in response, "Then why are there ranks? Why is there status? To add to my statements, Gryffindor, those barbarians have tortured us for years. Burned our brethren, drowned them, mercilessly slain them! If we are idiotic enough to bestow them magic, it will be one more tactic for them to utilize. To offer them friendship is to allow them to betray us!"—and here, he fiercely snarled and shoved Godric away from him—"They are all filthy Mudbloods, and they must be stopped! We cannot allow them into our school! Do you not comprehend?"

Another silence followed, this one more agonizing than the last, as Rowena recollected the first ball she attended. There, twelve-year-old Salazar used that uncivilized word.

And now, he appeared more unforgiving when that word issued forth from his lips, as though he deemed it absolutely necessary to call Muggles that. For him to plaster a name that horribly bigoted and wrong caused her to stand to her feet. Surely, he did not mean it. He could not mean it, what with the wrath that consumed him instead of his cool rationale. She could help him.

"Salazar." Rowena touched his arm as a desperate last attempt for this. "You cannot imply that hatred, surely you cannot! Perhaps if we could discuss this more neutrally and—"

His stormy green-gray eyes frostily glanced over her as he hissed angrily, "Know your place! You, least of all, can understand if Godric here fails to."

So fiercely irate, so callous...Shocked and profoundly hurt that he would tell her such things, she stumbled back, muted by these sharp words. What she did not know was that Salazar was at wit's end. With one friend strongly opposing him, one not even bothering to choose sides (he glared at Helga), and a lover who begged him to stop his tirade, he was devastated. They had turned their backs on him, as they had probably planned to do all along. This duplicity was enough to make him at his most wrathful, for how could he trust anyone again? Perhaps their friendship meant nothing, or that he was fated to be the lone outcast.

Indeed, it must have been some façade for each of them, a jest to pull so that they could laugh at him. If that was what took place...Then so be it. As he strode out of the common room, with Godric bellowing him to come back, he turned sharply. Come back? Come back after such an argument as this? An idea struck him.

"No," he quietly murmured, more subdued this time. "No, I will not come back. I am done with this place, this wretched school that will face its demise after I'm gone. Curse you! Curse all of you for fooling me into becoming intimate with you! You never cared, not enough to heed to my warnings. Farewell...forever."

Though his face looked etched out of stone and his tone was filled with vehemence, Rowena caught a glimpse of the pure anguish in Salazar's eyes before he stalked off with a swish of his cloak.

* * *

Inconceivably haunted by that one final glance of Salazar's, Rowena had not attempted to undress herself that night. What occurred between him and Godric traumatized both her and Helga: Helga, because she merely wished for them to still coincide peacefully and her, because she simply loved Salazar too much. How could he speak to her as effortlessly as he had, as though she was of no worth? Shifting positions on her bed that they also slept in together from time to time, she shuddered from that incident. At one point, a shouting match had truly ensued, and she wondered how that could possibly happen. And those parting words...

Rowena groaned fretfully, her eyes wide open and not remotely near closing.

She must prevent him from departing the school, for she would have never wanted their last words between them be unhappy. Or at least loathsome. If she could catch him off his guard, perhaps she could convince him to stay...just stay for her. As selfish as Rowena was in thinking this, she cared for this man. She once told him that any ruse he put on she would see through. Wasn't there pain in those eyes that often looked at her so tenderly in the past? Were not his facial contortions too forced? She could have sipped from his Felix Felicis gift to her, if she hadn't used it up on two occasions: one before a family visit and one on the night they had first shared a bed together. Maybe if she had reserved a sip of that golden potion, he would have learned to be unprejudiced.

Urgently, Rowena sprang from her bed and fled her private chamber entirely as she headed toward the dungeons. Please, she begged to a higher power, please do not let him remain infuriated with me. There is good in him, there is!

Once she arrived at the dungeons, she noticed Salazar walking inadvertently toward her. Carrying a sack containing all his belongings, he maintained an expressionless look on his face, as though to endeavor blocking the positive memories of happier times from his mind. Upon seeing her, disheveled and close to tears again, a change overwhelmed him. He was less detached than previously, his green-gray eyes taking on the gentleness she remembered so fondly.

When she stepped toward him, Salazar told her ruefully, "I should not have reacted the way I did when you intervened. You are entirely blameless to try to cease the argument. Forgive me, my darling Rowena."

Prepared to come to her point, Rowena held his gloved hand in hers. "Salazar, whatever you must do, do not abandon Hogwarts. As I would have said to you earlier, we could have discussed this rationally. You could have still taught the purebloods while we would have dealt with the rest. Only...don't go. I will be inconsolable if you do."

Completely somber, he cupped her shoulders to gaze into her eyes as the tears streamed down her face. She loved him as passionately as ever before, despite the bitter feud.

He had erred in judgment in assuming no one care for him since that was irrationality seizing him then. Someone would attempt to stop the departure. Alas, he could take back his words! Hogwarts would have to come first, and instead of being foolish and obstinate, he would step aside. Removing a dragon hide glove from his hand (for he yearned to touch her one last time), he wiped away some of the tears lingering on her cheeks. Merlin, he loved her, and that would be until his dying breath.

He sighed in lament. "I am no longer wanted here, Ro. I do not belong here, not after what happened this night. I must leave this school...to never return. It's for the greater good."

Sobs soon racked Rowena's body once she heard this spoken in such a tone of certainty that it could not be a falsehood. No, no, she would not surrender yet.

"But, Hogwarts does need you in spite of your views on Muggles! It...It could be ignored in time. Your students need you. I need you. For you to nev—!"

Salazar gently pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh...I need you too, more than anything. However, we both agreed long ago that Hogwarts is to be our main priority."

As weak as she hated to look, she hung her head in knowing that she did care for the school as well. In her hitherto blissful experience here, she scarcely imagined that she would ever have to choose between the two. And as proud and protective as he tended to be, he would never permit her to travel with him. She started crying without pausing.

To witness Rowena reduced to a sorrowful young girl before his eyes injured Salazar above all else. And she was correct in her thoughts that she could not go with him. As such an exceedingly clever witch, she must remain without him seeing her again.

"Shhh...Hush, my love. I am certainly not worthy of your tears, but you know your fate is to remain here where you undoubtedly belong. Stop this needless weeping...Please."

It was the first and last time that she heard Salazar be imploring with anybody, even with her. And as she studied that notably handsome face, she was startled to find something there. But, how could it exist? She was in bed, dreaming...

Yet, that single tear that trickled down Salazar's face was real, genuinely so.

"Salazar," she murmured with seemingly all the affection in the world as she wiped it away from his unshaven cheek before kissing it. The beginnings of a beard started to show on his face. After observing as minute a detail as his tear, she felt relieved. This display proved that he was human inside the cold exterior.

In turn, Salazar touched the spot on his cheek as though it had burned. How...? He hadn't cried in twenty-four years, not since he was beaten by the Muggle boys. Perhaps this was the result of this moment sinking in. He would really leave his Rowena behind.

He crushed her to him in an embrace that told her how much he needed her this last time. The scent of her was as familiar as that rosemary from his mother's old chamber. Between the two, though, he could smell violets in Rowena's hair and other wildflowers. However, he was told by her that violets were her favorite.

"You taught me to love someone else apart from myself," he whispered into her lovely hair, holding back sobs of his own. "And I am deeply indebted to you for that. I shall love you forever. Eternally, I am yours, Rowena."

She lifted her face to his. "And you are mine until I die. There will be no one else."

Salazar's face broke into the truest, widest smile Rowena had seen from him before he kissed her. He gave everything he had into this kiss, particularly his soul. They remained entwined in each other until they needed air.

With a pang to her heart, Rowena noted how wet his eyes looked as he fought back his tears. How incredible this was, this proof of how much she had affected his behavior. She thawed the icy façade he carefully ensured to be intact for the vast part of his life, through twenty years of barbed insults and impassive faces. Yet, in this one night, when everything would be made permanent in them never seeing each other again, the façade crumbled entirely. And presently, his pain was her pain.

She embraced him once more, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "Are you certain that I am not to join you? Does it have to be this way, with us never having contact again?"

"Aye," he whispered brokenly, his arms fastened around her waist. "It must be so."

Recalling when he first saw a tiny white baby basilisk emerge from the fragmented chicken egg, he felt initially triumphant. But, upon leaving his chamber of which no other person would be aware for a thousand years, Salazar leaned against the wall, gasping fro breath that eluded him. A surge of searing guilt burned him like a brand, as though "traitor" was marked on his chest. Nothing could ever be the same, and that was why he would avoid telling his beloved. For, Rowena would loathe him for all of time to hear of something so far gone unforgivable. Her declarations of love would be retracted, leaving him a miserable, wretched man.

With that disgustingly inhumane transgression on his conscience, he next told her this, "Nonetheless, I rest perfect faith in you to find happiness. I wish you nothing but good. Another man far more deserving than I will be yours to wed. Do not become a spinster simply because I am not there. Love him..."—he faltered as he caught Rowena's disheartened expression—"Love him as you love me."

Unbeknownst to her, it tortured him to picture her in another man's arms, but he knew her contentment came first. This was another thing she had taught him.

Rowena shook her head swiftly. "There can never be another, not like you."

He smiled wryly. "Try for me then. Shall we have one last rendezvous by the lake in the meantime?"

The perfect gentleman, Salazar offered his arm to her. She unabashedly accepted it.

This was very much romantic of him to do this, for the lake was that one memorable place where they relished in their first kiss. Their only witness had been the giant squid that unaffectedly kept swimming, even now as he prepared to leave. Even though they did not swim this time, they lay beside each other to stargaze. Rowena buried her head in his shoulder to feel him beside her one last time, to smell him, to breathe him, to see him...and to taste those lips on hers. To the concluding moment, amongst the bitterness and resentment that he held toward Godric, Salazar was nothing but kind to her. It disappointed her that he should hold what would be a lifelong grudge against his former friend, but she was gratified that he forgave her. He could never let sourness to fester with her.

"Have you ever studied the stars?" he asked her thoughtfully, holding her without intending to release her.

"Yes, but I only know few of the constellations."

Despite this moment, he would still jest. "I assumed you knew all of them, since you are the profoundly intelligent one."

"Please do not tease me," Rowena sighed yet grinned slightly all the same while he chuckled softly, and that was when she cherished the sound of his silky, husky voice. Salazar proceeded to point out the constellations to her and related the mythologies of them.

How Cancer the Crab had gotten crushed under Hercules' sandaled food, how Cygnus was a disguise for Zeus to seduce one of his many conquests...As an attentive listener, Rowena held on to nearly every word and gave feedback accordingly, usually something witty that caused the smile to rarely fade from his lips. Their last conversation, fittingly, was regarding the stars, for were they not star-crossed lovers from the beginning? Perhaps, Salazar romantically mused, once he or she would die second out of the two of them, they would be a part of the dark night sky. In their second lives, they would be stars, part of that universal map that appeared to be several thousand miles away.

In fact, Rowena murmured, "Let us join the stars," before she drifted off to sleep, tranquil and without cares in the world. Dutifully, Salazar carried her in his arms back to the castle.

He hardly wanted Helga and Godric to bombard Rowena with interrogation as to why she slept soundly outside. Once he reached her bedchamber that he longingly stared around, he unloaded his burden onto her bed. How placid she looked, how truly beautiful in this calm state...He dared not resist kissing her brow, and then he touched her lips with his to hear her sigh. In her sleep, she even attempted to cling to him as she blindly grabbed at his arms. Salazar was indeed willing to sacrifice some time off his departure to lie beside her once more. Needing that moment of peace, he listened to her slow heartbeat, loving the rhythm like the sweetest music. He caressed her, his hand coming to rest at her abdomen.

If only time could not constantly move forward this expediently, just so he could stay with his Rowena and be her Salazar for eternity. What he felt while with her he could not feel around anyone else. Until the day he died, he would scarcely attempt to catch lightning in a bottle twice. There would be no other wom—

Salazar swore he sensed something underneath his hand. Alert, he bent his head so that it was against her stomach. There it was again, this...He could only describe it as a kick. Rowena was with child..._their _child. Perhaps his fury should have risen again to equal that of the blasted argument. Perhaps he would forget her entirely.

Aware that he could not do either of these things, Salazar sensed a faint smile flit onto his lips before kissing her for memory's sake. Her lips moved against his then, and he fully welcomed it. Her hands on his face and his hands on hers...They were most certainly soul mates, she had been correct in once proclaiming that to him. And now, living proof would soon come in the form of their child once it was conceived, a product of their love as his mother had called him in a lost journal entry. Yet...he would be out of both their lives, for it had to be that way with no other alternatives. He shall bid farewell to her now before his heard would shatter more severely than it already had, with him being the cause.

He whispered tenderly in her ear, "My sweetest, dearest Rowena, fare thee well," and thus broke his own heart.

With a final swish of his cloak, he vanished out of sight.

* * *

**A/N: Yep, massive in every sense of the word. It was almost emotionally draining to write this chapter for me. It's just so sad, and there's half a dozen sad things here if not more. And yes, I know, I had Salazar cry. At first, I initially wasn't going to have him cry, and then I'm thinking this could make this heartbreaking moment that much more significant. Just makes sense once you think about it.**

**Hm...what's going to happen now? Well, heavy stuff, that's all I'll say about that. **


	25. An Entreaty

**A/N: Well, here's the next chapter after you guys endured immeasurable pain from the last one. Just kidding. XD It was pretty sad, though. And I doubt this chapter will cheer any of you up, so sorry about that.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 25: An Entreaty**

Crumbling autumn leaves floated on the crisp, cool, and blustery wind that came out of the east. A faint drizzle showered over the yellowing fields, so light that a mist appeared. Needless to say, it was a day that looked depressing and melancholy, much like the woman sitting forlornly alone in her carriage. Her expressive eyes gazed out the window and espied a few birds flying in the sky. Presumably, they returned to their homes nestled on the boughs of a birch or an oak somewhere.

Rowena wouldn't know where.

For, yes, here she was in this carriage, yearning for a time that long eluded her.

Though a mere few months had passed since the departure of Salazar Slytherin, it had felt as though endless years had faded into one another for her. He was her one true love, a part of her that no one else could attempt to replace. Everywhere she walked in Hogwarts, she would catch sight of the most infinitesimal details that reminded her of him. A hearth would remind her of the founders gathering together to discuss plans for their yet unfinished school. Every potion bottle seemed to bring back a vivid memory of him peering over her shoulder while she worked. His tutelage had proven to be to her benefit.

"Ah, this is all very well stirred," he would say, the corners of his eyes crinkling with subtle amusement. "But, my dear Rowena, a dash of powdered graphorn horn would add to that special color this particular potion has. There. Do you see it now? You're improving with each lesson."

And Rowena would gracefully drape her arms about his shoulders to kiss this beloved friend and teacher and beau. Even now, as she silently sat in this somehow hollow carriage, she remembered just the exact manner in which he held her. The way his hand affectionately grazed her cheek, the way he smiled against her lips as he slowly kissed her...She missed this man more than anything in the world. When she would step toward the dungeons any more, she would abruptly turn away. There had also been far too many memories down there, both sweet and sad, and the wound in her heart was still fresh.

The loss of Salazar Slytherin from their cherished school was felt not just by Rowena. Godric's grin appeared not as careless as it used to be, and though he was hard pressed to confess it, he missed his close friend. As a general sign of his disapproval of that encounter that threatened the pride of each man, however, he refused to mention Salazar's name. He would not even utter the surname Slytherin, not remotely in a poisonous tone. No, Godric would stay mum on this matter for the remainder of his life, for he believed in only looking forward. Helga noticed the disconsolate expressions on the faces of many of Salazar's former students and wished to comfort them. She once related to Rowena on how he had acted as mentor to these pupils.

Deep down, Helga firmly believed that Salazar possessed a strong, caring heart, despite his harsh words on that last night.

"For, after all, Ro," she stated gravely, sipping her cup of tea. "Did he not love you?"

Yes, without a doubt, he had and would until he died. As such, it was as though he had indeed perished instead of merely going down his own path. Hogwarts—part of this school they all founded with the best of intentions—had left with him...and a fair portion of Rowena's heart. Yet, she was not so melancholy to be on the brink of suicide.

If anything, the nearly selfless, devoted love that Salazar had shown her sustained her, and she did not act as wholly depressed as she assumed she would be. She would keep him in her heart to the end of her days, no matter how far he traveled. Memories of halcyon days, of laughter, of kissing, and of true love would be exiled to the back of her mind, but they would never fully dissipate. For, dreams of him would recur every night as soon as Rowena closed her eyes. In them, though he was far away, she was closest to him then. Once she would wake, she would wonder if he dreamed of her whilst she dreamed of him. It would be extraordinarily romantic if this were so.

As she gazed at the rain gradually falling down, she drifted her hand toward her stomach, where her unborn child thrived. Upon Salazar's departure, she was three months pregnant, her first trimester concluding. And she had known those three months.

As some women in her era experienced, they were unaware that they carried a child until the day of conceiving arrived. Or night, depending on the circumstance. However, Rowena was particularly keen on what went on in her own body. As soon as she missed that mysterious monthly bleeding, she just somehow _knew_. And she was adamant regarding not telling the truth to Salazar. If she had, she had predicted, he would have left Hogwarts even sooner than he had. His rage would have increased immensely, to discover that he would have to be a responsible father when he longed to escape Hogwarts. Knowing how his own father had treated (or mistreated) him, Rowena could only imagine the inadequacy he would have felt.

Salazar would certainly have doubted his abilities as a parent since he experienced hardly any paternal love himself. One disheartening event seemed to lead to another as of late.

Thus, why she reposed in this carriage, impatiently waiting to arrive at her destination. She planned to visit a friend she hadn't gotten the chance to converse with in a very long time. Anywhere was better than the presently dour Hogwarts right now. She could only take so much of the wryly told jokes and faint, half-hearted smiles when talking with Helga and Godric.

Luckily for her, Rowena could locate this friend due to Lucrecia's letter telling of the good fortune that had befallen him. Ten years and her elder sister's two children later, they still maintained their correspondence, for they were still attached to the hip as siblings. Exciting tidings as well as tragic ones had been exchanged between the two of them. Their mother had died two years ago, and their father, continuously grieving, would not be far behind. But, there had been new life given in the instance of Lucrecia's two daughters Catherine and Rose. It was easy to take solace in that. As for her dearest friend from childhood, she discovered through the letter that their father had taken him under his wing. Soon, he was like the son Vincent never had to the point he granted him a lordship.

Lord Devon...She scarcely anticipated that title to ever be associated with her childhood friend, and it was not out of a lack of faith. With all the boundaries set between higher and lower ranks, something like this simply wasn't done. However, Rowena very well knew the existence of generosity in her father's heart, and he was willing to be inclusive toward friends of theirs.

Devon resided in his own castle, considerably smaller in size than Eaglewood but enough to suffice as lodgings for a lone man. To this place the carriage gradually headed to until it was in sight. As it slowed to a stop, the rain seemed to pour down more torrentially.

"We have reached our destination, milady," she heard the driver inform her through the window.

With some reluctance concerning her exit from the carriage, Rowena wistfully gazed out this window, watching the steel gray clouds become steadily darker. That color made her recall Salazar's breathtakingly beautiful eyes and how they would look intently at her. When they would look at her right before he kissed her...The spell breaking over her, she allowed the driver (Devon's driver...she checked herself) to civilly help her down. With that, another memory mixed in reverie came: when Salazar gently aided her in exiting that carriage so long ago. It could have been eons.

The whipping of the drops of rain ruined her peaceful recollections.

It chilled her to the bone, this relentless autumn rain that was more of a downpour. She gathered her light blue cloak ore tightly around her as she flung up the hood as well. What a day to decide to go call on someone!

"Allow me," a familiar voice said, and she sensed another cloak fall atop her.

Walking father, more determinedly, she replied stubbornly, "Blind as you are, you should observe that I already have a cloak. I do not need to borrow yours."

The man beside her chuckled warmly. "As obstinate as ever, I see. Rowena Ravenclaw, you were never one to conceal your opinions."

It was then that they managed to get to the castle itself. Rowena found that she couldn't remain vexed with this dear, old friend for long, so she returned his smile.

Upon entering together, she peered over her shoulder at him, only to be completely shocked at the dramatic transformation that had taken place during this passage of time. No longer did Devon wear the homespun clothing from his village, but clothes of one who has climbed to a high social standing. He wore a rich looking black shirt that clung to him now and dark blue trousers. Dark colors that Salazar would have worn...She averted her eyes but not without admitting to herself how handsome he had become with age. For, he had slightly grown out his blond hair that managed to fall into one of his eyes, which were as vivid a green as she remembered them.

Her smile returned. "Devon, my dearest friend, it has been so long."

Happy to be in the company of someone from her childhood, she embraced him out of friendship. Devon returned her embrace, tempted to tenderly breathe in the scent of her hair. If he could recall, it smelled of wildflowers, but now it would be mixed with rain.

"Though not two years, I certainly did not have to wait twenty. How is your school faring?"

Rowena suddenly felt all the joy elude her once he made this inquiry. How she would love to lie and say that all was well. A more bitter image rushed to the forefront of her mind's eye, one of Salazar Slytherin's face contorted with cynical rage.

She sadly shook her head. "Not as well as we would hope, presently. A fellow founder and intimate friend of ours departed from the school this past summer."

As much as part of her appreciated the look of sympathy that passed through Devon's face, Rowena despised it at the same time. She needed no pity.

"I am sorry for that ill news," he murmured compassionately, stepping somewhat closer to her. "Was he—I assume twas a man—dissatisfied?"

"Yes, indeed he was. He became quite unhappy as well," she divulged, remembering the nights when he would sleep turned away from her. Clearly, something had troubled him then. Perhaps the truth of what caused his inner turmoil would never be revealed to her, for which she was grateful. Whatever made him so discontent would have made her the same way, too. They had always shared each other's pain.

Concerned, Devon could not resist the affection that he still held for the Rowena he loved all these years and tried to touch her cheek. Sighing regretfully, she turned away.

"You were in love with him," he realized, the truth coming to light at last.

Rowena could not deny it. "Yes, very much so. He was the reason why I..."

In order to spare his feelings, she spoke no more on the subject as she sensed the tears welling in her eyes. Merlin, it was difficult to think of him without crying! Out of a need to at least be there for his obviously distraught friend, he embraced her and said soothing words that Salazar would have whispered. But, Devon was not Salazar. He could never be him, even if he inadvertently endeavored to be.

Stroking her hair to placate the anxieties that troubled her coupled with the immense sadness, he assured her, "It will be well in time, Ro. Life may be a labyrinth of twists and turns, but it can work itself out. Be that as it may, how that scoundrel treat—"

"You know nothing!" Rowena pushed him away, irked that he should degrade Salazar in her hearing. "He is not a scoundrel who mistreated me. Why did I bother to come here if I was to hear such talk from a supposed friend? You should have taken better care to hide your envy. You're quite green with it, truthfully."

Further more perturbed than she had to begin with, journey there included, she strode briskly toward a randomly chosen chamber. She cared not where, as long as she could avoid him. Being as clever as those who knew her best professed, she realized that Devon would do anything to rekindle their romance again. And yet, they had been mere children aged sixteen when they had fallen into this so-called love. It was entirely artificial, completely pointless, for just how often had they seen each other? With their difference in rank to blame, it had been all of three visits. Three! Though of course the gap had closed since then, Rowena had an idea that Devon might have wheedled a promotion in status out of her father, no matter what Lucrecia optimistically pointed out.

Once she contemplated the perplexing matter further, she unfairly saw the situation as taking advantage of a kindly old man. After all, Devon would have done anything and sacrificed practically everything to claim her as his again. What he failed to notice was that she wouldn't belong to anyone again. Her thoughts rapidly became muddled as she stepped into a hearth chamber. She only belonged to Salazar Slytherin, who swore to her that he would love her for all of time. No one would ever change that!

Rowena wearily collapsed into a chair, hoping that fretful sobs would not overtake her. Everything seemed so wretched and horrible at the moment.

A small smile tugged at her lips once she felt her child kick inside her growing belly. Perhaps all was not so terrible, especially since she would take care of someone else in the near future. Children could do that, brighten the future, a fact she learned while teaching at Hogwarts. Meanwhile, she shook her head out of shame for what she shouted at Devon. It was uncalled for.

He glimpsed her in this particular chamber then. "Rowena?"

"Forgive me," she apologized sincerely. "I—"

"No, forgive me," he implored of her. "Who was I to judge someone you love?"

At that moment, the theory she had entertained of him gaining his rank to purposely win her evaporated into nothing. Rowena glanced into the crackling fire to search for answers. She disliked that this long awaited visit had gone completely awry and somber already. Yet, she could not keep this from him, for he was still one of her most trusted friends.

"I'm bearing a child," she told him, beaming this time, as it was something to be celebrated rather than cringed at. "His child. I did not tell him."

Instead of inquiring further, Devon knelt down near her and lightly pressed her hand with his. "Though it comes at a grim time, it is nevertheless joyous news, the best I have heard in a long time."

He laid his hand on top of hers and stared at her as kindly as he ever had. Hm, Rowena thought to herself, my child will need a father. But, she didn't want to marry Devon simply out of her baby's requirement to grow up in a whole, happy home. She could certainly love him, yes, though not as strongly as she would Salazar.

"_Love him as you love me."_

Those words of his echoed in her mind, filling her with apprehension in spite of that reassurance. Above else, Rowena valued fidelity in a relationship, and that was exactly what she had with her truest love. To forge ahead with life with another man seemed wrong, especially since it had been three months since Salazar left.

Voicing her thoughts, Devon mused, "The child will surely need a father figure around. And if you raised it on your own, the breath of scandal will be terrible for you to undergo. It is unlike a woman to be unmarried and rearing a child, you see."

"Unfortunately." Rowena smiled wryly before feeling him wrap his arms around her.

"Marry me," he whispered. "Not merely for your child, of course. Throughout all these years, I have loved no one else. You are exceedingly unique and are the only woman worth waiting a whole lifetime for."

She took a moment to drink in his words as she pushed back a loose strand of his golden hair. Maybe it would not be as ruinous to her pride as she presumed. After all, Devon was at the very least a friend. However, she possessed a vague premonition that Salazar's child would be the only one she would bear.

Finally, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I will be more than willing to wed you."

Devon's face broke into a pleased grin while he leaned ever closer toward her. Embarrassed, she averted her eyes, though he lifted her chin.

"May I?" he asked politely, aware that she might not be ready for this.

To assure him that she prepared to move on, Rowena kissed his lips, passing her hand through his hair. While kissing him, though, her lips were numb.

* * *

**A/N: Despite Rowena's denials, she technically is marrying Devon so her child can have a father. Cuz, back then (and you all gotta think about this), single parenting was pretty taboo. I mean, REALLY taboo. Heck, it still is now sometimes, but this is Middle Ages we're talking about here. As the last line implies, she basically still loves Salazar and will never love anyone else in quite the same way. I also thought that, after reading DH, Helena had the ruthless characteristics of a Slytherin. Makes sense, doesn't it? I pretty much hated her in the book to be honest.**

**Next up, next week, Salazar's side of things. **


	26. Shattered Dreams

**A/N: Hey, guys! Well, this story is almost over, sorry to disappoint all of you. Thing is, I guess I would have made it longer, but I would have had to use another notebook since the 150 page one I used for this was thisclose to being filled up by the time I finished longhand writing the story. That's right, 150 pages! Meaning this is 300 pages or so and counting with this fic. Amazing, right? Anyway, welcome to the shortest chapter of the whole story. But, then again, you can only write an introspective chapter for only so many pages before you start to bore the reader.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 26: Shattered Dreams**

Hogwarts stood across from this lake, he knew all too well. After months of aimless roaming through the hills and vales of England to search inside himself, he had stopped near this place, where his search ended. This was where everything started and concluded. However, as intelligent and insightful as he was, Salazar Slytherin dared not step toward the school where he could have possibly wrought its ruin. His urge to protect it as his home had distorted into avarice and selfishness to force his former friends to listen to him. Rowena listened, yet her heart was too kind for her to truly believe his point of view, for which he could not place blame. The other two he wouldn't excuse, so why was it her alone? His love must be greedy and possessive as well.

A stray breeze managed to ruffle his dark hair while he blankly, thoughtfully stared at that castle of stone that seemed to block him. He stood in the midst of this shady forest, yet the blasted castle probably suspected what he contemplated. Its walls told no lies and professed the truth as to what happened inside. From him building it with Godric, charming it, courting Rowena, and then to him constructing the secret chamber out of bitterness and that final declaration of rebellion...Any remote chance of redemption would not come to pass for him. He was no hero, and who was he to actually think for one second that he could be accepted by others?

Salazar had always contrasted from the other three founders..._always_. He was considered dark and mysterious, something to be feared and something to be detested. When he was a young boy, he used to question his humanity, if he even possessed an inkling of it or not. For the first six years of his life, he deemed himself a monster, for that was how his father and the servants treated him. Well, he had proven them right, hadn't he? Over the past ten years, his heart may have softened, and he may have gained caring, supporting friends. Yet, his true colors could not be changed. He still placed that basilisk in the school, and his best friend rejected him in the end. As much as he had denied the credibility of this trait existing, he really was monstrous, impossible to forgive, a complete and utter wretch. He would deny it no longer.

He was a true Slytherin in every sense that that surname implied: coldness, harshness, blood obsessed, bigoted, and power hungry. In spite of his attempt to begin his life anew with the founding of Hogwarts, he could escape neither his past nor his fate. Everything he thought he knew from being the potions master and the loyal friend twisted into something that he could hardly recognize. Meaning, if he was correct in guessing at this, trying to turn his life around brought him even worse pain. A Slytherin he was and would forever be, and for the first time in his life, Salazar did not take pride in his heritage. The heirloom locket clasped around his neck weighed down like a heavy burden, as though all of his sins were locked within that miniscule pendant on the chain.

Gingerly, hesitantly, he fingered it, feeling that cold, solid gold beneath the pads of his fingers. When he traced the "S" insignia, he recalled when he had placed emeralds on it to make the "S" encrusted. He had wished to add his special touch...

"_Hello, Salazar," Rowena cheerfully greeted, sauntering into the chamber he normally utilized as his classroom. "Oh. I hope I am not interrupting you."_

_With a rather smug look on his face, he glanced up from his locket that he diligently worked on. "Not at all, Ro, not in the slightest. I am merely using alchemy to place these emeralds on this locket of mine."_

_Alchemy had been a branch of magic relatively foreign to Salazar until he read a book on the subject one languid Saturday afternoon. Although he initially struggled with grasping the complexity of it, he soon found it as simple as his potions brewing. He supposed there was no discernible reason for embedding these shining verdant jewels into the "S" of the locket, merely that he was bored._

"_Alchemy?" Rowena shook her head in disbelief. "Why ever for?"_

_He shrugged. "A hobby, one might say. Honestly, darling, must you insist upon an answer for everything?"_

_She crossed her arms, her eyes playfully challenging him. "I am an inquisitive sort of person, Sal. I am going to need knowledge pertaining to everything."_

_Enjoying how she used sarcasm delicately like in this instance, Salazar chuckled fondly at her wit. No one in the castle, not even him, was impervious to her charm and her cleverness. She was so natural with both characteristics that she could be charming and clever with ease. And he thought it exceedingly attractive._

_Carefully inserting another emerald, he replied, "I do not doubt your capability of that. But...hm...Perhaps I will craft you a necklace someday."_

_Rowena stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder in order to vex him. Instead of being vexed, he stared at her with gleaming eyes and a genuine smile. Forgetting what he was doing, he allowed her to wrap her arms behind his shoulders._

_"You know jewelry does not mean a thing to me, even if it would be a gift from you. Your love is worth more than any diamond, sapphire, ruby...or emerald."_

_From anyone else, he would have considered this to be an uninspired, cliché statement. From his Rowena, it sounded quite sweet coming from her soft voice..._

Reeling from the images in his mind, Salazar reluctantly blinked his eyes open, for he felt momentarily that he was back at Hogwarts and with her. Being with her was what partially made teaching at the school worthwhile. With a rueful sigh, he opened his locket then by whispering imperatively in Parseltongue.

His grip on it tightened once he glimpsed what the heirloom now contained that hadn't been there before. There, nestled in the hollow, were a few strands of dark, beautiful brown hair—Rowena's hair, to be precise. The hair he so wished to have for his twenty-fourth birthday, the peculiar gift that she teasingly remarked was odd. Surely, in her heart, she considered it to be a romantic request. For, that was how special their love was. They never asked too much out of each other, as long as they cared about each other. Their emotions mattered more than trifles such as Christmas and birthday gifts. If anything, these emotions translated to the actual gifts. But, now that this...what this was between them ended in this lifetime, he couldn't keep these strands.

What deeply concerned Salazar about ridding himself of these locks was that they were what he had of Rowena. The _only _thing he had, so he was troubled over the fact that he must let them go. She would no longer be his, that much was certain. As soft-hearted as he had been (foolishly or rightfully so), he had ensured to tell her that he had set her free. She could not remain unmarried just because she felt obligated toward his thoughts and feelings. Rowena was one of the wisest women he had ever come across. Following his advice, she would belong to another man in a matter of months, maybe as of the present time. Nonetheless, Salazar sensed a sorrowful pang pierce his chest, right into his heart that he kept guarded.

The worst part of this was that he could imagine it clearly, perfectly in his head. He could see Rowena touching another man, talk to him in her low, soft tones, kiss him...Out of anguish, he unclenched the hand that gently held the strands of hair, allowing the wind to carry them away. A shudder passed through him as he knelt on the ground, seized by his pain. Would he ever doubt that she would love him until death and beyond? How could she...when she had never taken his side? When he had talked of blood purity, she automatically changed the subject. Perhaps she saw him as a monster, too.

Then again, he must have been too manic regarding wizards and how their blood should be pure in order for them to be truly magical. However, Salazar was determined to never place trust in Muggles again. His childhood had destroyed all hopes for such a peace between him and them to occur. Their children had abused him, kicking him and pummeling him until he started bleeding. He could hardly give them the smug satisfaction of his friendship to them. As he declared to them all, he would keep his belief that Muggles waited for the opportunity to use wizard powers against them. If he hadn't attained such questionable philosophy, would Rowena have loved him more? Maybe his theories were not as great as he once made them out to be, if they were to drive people away.

Gazing longingly out over the lake that glittered once the rays of sunlight hit it just right, he wondered what Rowena was currently up to. He pictured her teaching a class of bright-eyed pupils, guiding them with reassuring words when they would try out a recently taught charm. For, he had observed how she behaved toward students before, before and after school was in session. She seemingly memorized each and every name, politely asked after their families, and listened to their silly, juvenile stories. Always there was a patient smile settled on her lips, and its presence would seemingly encourage the children to speak in a relaxed manner toward her. Her sparkling charisma could draw anyone in.

Salazar shook his head back and forth in order to rid himself of torturous thoughts concerning what would have happened if he lived his life with his most beloved Rowena, shared it with her. Children would have very much been a reality, especially with the equal passion they had along with gentle loving.

And that brought him to think of their child.

Had she known that she bore a child? Did she honestly think that he would loathe the idea? Or, what angered him a great deal, did she come to the conclusion that he would be an ill-fitting father?

He would have loved that child as much as he adored her, and that was the truth! In spite of his father's less than desirable parenting, there was his mother to consider. His mother was the kindest, most affectionate woman whom he had never met, but at least she was prepared to care for him. And because Salazar foolishly gave Rowena up (but it had been the only way), she would raise the child with another man. It was indeed inevitable that this would be so. She needed to avoid horrific, reputation destroying scandal, did she not? So, there would be that replacement love, another bloody man who was not him!

"That child will be brought up by lies!" he abruptly shouted, not caring who or what overheard him. This revelation devastated him beyond anything.

Salazar drew out another piece of jewelry, this time from his trouser pocket. It was the most meaningful, the most precious item he owned. And yet, he surprised himself with how long he bothered to keep it. This dream of his that he coddled since he first began to fall in love with Rowena was shattered. It would forever be immortalized in fantasy but not reality. His temporary rage subsiding, it was replaced by a calm sorrow that hardly seemed to abate. Staying thoroughly angry at Rowena was not how he wished for this to be. He treasured her, no matter who she would marry or what she did. Her heart would be open to anything, and for that, he deeply admired her. She shined like the brightest star.

Who wouldn't love her? Though Godric and Helga (particularly the former) could avoid saying his name in conversation now, they would not direct this toward Rowena. Salazar hoped they hadn't, for it would be most unfair if they vented it on her simply because she had her romance with him. As for him, he would half-heartedly search for a pureblooded woman to marry, only so he could have his heir. Nothing else mattered to him, for everything that composed life quietly faded into the background. Everything dulled, for he had tasted the finest part of life (the part _she _had chosen to share with him) that was offered to him.

It simply wouldn't be the same without her, not the same. So, it all came down to this one moment, the ultimate sacrifice that he would make, the one that would wound most. Rowena Ravenclaw, cherished by every person she met, would have to be let go. It was genuine this time; he could not see her or visit her again.

He didn't deserve such a pleasure as that, not any more.

His hand shaking slightly, he threw what he planned to cast out of his sight and into the lake. The object in question was a ring, one that he had planned to use in proposing to Rowena. A diamond and amethyst piece, it was what he himself had crafted with his knowledge of alchemy. As Salazar Slytherin turned away, whispering unheard wishes for the woman he loved, the ring sank to the bottom.

It was never discovered.

* * *

**A/N: A bit chilling there, I personally think. Yeah, the alchemy thing...That was me winging it and being unsure what the magical equivelent of jeweling would be. I mean, in jeweling, you do work with some precious metals like gold and silver and stuff like that. Winging it, I guess, isn't always so bad a thing.**

**Now, the ring...Oooh, when I wrote that, goosebumps went up and down my back. Cuz, the thing is, I originally didn't plan it so that it would be revealed that Salazar was going to ask Rowena to marry him. But, at the very last minute, I decided to add it. It kind of makes this all the more tragic, does it not? XD I mean, it's really just straight-up painful.**


	27. To Love Eternally

**A/N: Warning: this chapter may cause you to use tissues. XD I'm not sure I would go that far in saying that, but it is a legitimate possibility, guys. This is one sad chapter. The proof is in the words.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 27: To Love Eternally**

Hogwarts turned out some of the finest, most adept witches and wizards of its time over an expanse of nearly two more decades. These skills were sure to be passed on to future generations down the line, and thus the founders achieved their main goal. Magic had become a mainstay, and it would not die out any time soon. For, even some Muggleborns benefited immensely from what they were taught in Hogwarts, both skillfully and morally. Despite Salazar Slytherin's bleak prediction, a bond as well as a trust formed between purebloods and those of Muggle heritage. The remaining three founders ensured to encourage such friendships to blossom in order to prove they were not like Salazar in bigotry. However, even to a remotely casual observer, it was easy to see that his abandonment had inadvertently placed a strain among the three.

Though Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw maintained amicability and their friendship, they still sensed the vacancy that Salazar had left behind. Rowena, out of the three, changed the most drastically by keeping more to herself and behaving more reservedly to everyone. It was one of the reasons that would later drive her daughter Helena away, even though the two shared a somewhat close mother-daughter bond. This did not mean that Rowena had become ice-cold; rather, she was more cautious around people while giving off a sense of openness that was genuinely a part of her.

Eventually, after choosing competent teachers and leaving the Sorting Hat in charge of sorting, the founders mutually decided to leave.

Many tears were shed that day, many embraces given and received. Just before the Fielding (the surname her father had bestowed to Devon—Lord Devon sounded far too informal) carriage arrived, Rowena shared one final conversation with her long-time confidante Helga. Their strong, long-standing friendship contrasted with what Godric and Salazar's had once been. Now with the both of them in their forties, they could be astounded that there was no bitterness between them, no animosity.

"I cannot believe that this has ended," Helga sighed, openly weeping.

Rowena herself could barely blink back her tears. "Yes, but our time here is finished. It is what Godric said."

"'That Sorting Hat must be put to use'," the two women quoted him before dissolving into giggles mingled with sobs.

Godric then appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, placing a hand on each woman's shoulder. "It will serve as a purposeful hat, mark my words. Aside from that, two of us have children to look after"—and he looked at Rowena—"How is Helena faring?"

Rowena smiled ravishingly. "She has inherited my aptitude for learning."

And Salazar's relentless obstinacy, she thought to herself. At thirteen years, Helena certainly had the tendency to want to do things her way. But, not all of her stubbornness was so off-putting. She was fast becoming an incredibly good witch, capable of casting spells that took quite some time to learn. Despite the pain that Salazar's absence caused, Rowena nonetheless had every reason in the world to be proud of her talented daughter.

Embracing his two female friends as a parting farewell, Godric gradually strolled over toward his carriage, though with some reluctance. He would leave the school that materialized his dream that he once related to Salazar in that faraway inn. That single dream had gone above and beyond what he imagined prior to this castle and the eager young students who attended with the zeal to know about magic. Considering that he now left the school in capable hands, some of which belonged to former students, he would no longer trouble himself to fret over how it was kept. Glancing back toward his friends, Godric raised a hand in farewell.

"I wish the both of you the best of luck!" he called out to them before entering his carriage.

Helga and Rowena enthusiastically waved as well as continuously until the brightly painted scarlet carriage vanished from view. With the departure of their leader, the conclusion of the original four founders teaching together was nigh. An end of an era would quietly pass in Hogwarts history.

Solemnly, Rowena said to her closest friend, "Helga, I wish you well."

"As do I, Ro. I shall miss you—all of you, my dearest friends."

After one last sisterly embrace, they each entered their separate carriages. As Rowena chanced to gaze back on a whim, the memories flooded her mind. Days with her students, evenings spend with her friends, and nights with Salazar...She vowed to never forget them for as long as she lived.

What she did not know, however, was exactly how long that was fated to be.

* * *

Within the proceeding five years, Rowena's pleasingly satisfactory life sadly, almost inevitably deteriorated in quality. Her dearest friend who was also the husband she had grown to mildly love succumbed to a mysterious illness. Of course, all illnesses were enigmatic to those from her generation, but it was nonetheless disconcerting. In those last fleeting hours, she attempted to no avail certain potions she had put all her faith in. Whether they would have been effective on a Muggle like Devon or if it had been futile no matter what remained to be seen. Whatever the reason, she was witness to his death as he struggled to breathe and then...

Gone. Simply out of her life with a hissing breath and no last words.

This miserably tragic event had occurred merely two years after the last founders had gone their separate ways. At least, Rowena optimistically thought in her weakness of being alone, she still had Helena by her side. Unfortunately, her daughter would prove to be as deceptive and treacherous as her natural father, whom she suspected of not being Devon. Rebellion stirred in her heart along with jealousy of her mother's vast plethora of knowledge and wit. If anything, she would ask herself if she even loved her mother at all, as blinded by envy as she was. Truly revolted by living in this pathetically sized castle, she abruptly informed Rowena that she would flee.

"May I ask as to why, Helena?" she inquired with such weariness that her daughter's resolve nearly broke. And yet, not quite.

Defensively, as she restlessly paced back and forth, Helena replied, "I am aware that you have most likely lied to me my whole life, _Mother_! And do not dare ask what I am implying, for you know for certain. I am done with this place!"

She eerily echoed what her father shouted so long ago, Rowena morosely reflected as she stared numbly into Helena's eyes. They were dark brown through and through with perhaps a hint of gray. This would be like Salazar abandoning her all over again.

"If you must go, then go by all means," Rowena murmured with a touch of bitterness. "I only hope you come back when you learn your lesson. I cannot be pressed for imploring."

Huffily, Helena turned on her heel, enraged that her announcement didn't produce the desired result of her mother weeping. But, once she did ride off into parts unknown that very night, Rowena hardly slept a wink as she cried out a combination of guilt and frustration. Everything seemed to be headed on a downward spiral as of late. It had been more than enough that Devon died, but for Helena to run away three years later? Not only was she being punished for being an unsuitable wife, she was being condemned by some higher power for being an unfit mother as well. Throughout all this emotional turmoil, she slowly became ill herself. Her chest started to hurt form the excessive coughing, and her voice weakened to a barely audible rasping sound.

Before the servants put her under bed rest (a decision made by herself), Rowena noticed to her great horror that her diadem had gone missing. This must have been Helena's last fulfilled vendetta. She related this story to a baron who was enraptured with her daughter, requesting that he would bring her and the diadem back.

"It is most important that you do this. I do not wish Helena dead, and it could very well be a possibility if"—Rowena gasped, gripping the arms of her chair—"Bring her back, please."

The baron, who was named Nicholas, bowed. "Of course, Lady Ravenclaw, I will be willing to assist."

After the sudden gasp and once Nicholas set out on his journey, she collapsed onto the floor.

* * *

From many miles away and across a great distance, Salazar Slytherin awakened from a dream traumatizing enough for the image to be implanted in his mind's eye. He clutched at the bedsheets, panting furiously and drenched in a cold sweat. Perhaps his Legillimency could read mints he wished to penetrate from these many miles. For, he had sworn—could have sworn—that Rowena Ravenclaw lay dying alone somewhere at her residence, wherever that would presently be. Instinct told him that this was the truth.

"Dear Merlin," he murmured aloud to himself, his forehead breaking out with beads of perspiration. "If this is indeed real...She would be so young. I must owl as quickly as possible."

While Rowena suffered in the unlucky throes that she had undergone in her middle age, the years had been quite kind to Salazar. In his early fifties, he shockingly didn't have an abundance of gray hair.

There were only streaks that shot across his raven hair and beard, but otherwise, he could be believable as a man twenty years younger. Slytherins were reputed to have a cold yet striking beauty that barely faded with the passage of time. Though he had been fortunate enough in that sense, he loathed his life and what had ended up being its outcome. Despite marrying a pureblooded woman he encountered in a wizarding village and finally receiving his male heir, he had become dissatisfied with life in general. His wife, Emma, appeared very much similar to Rowena, only with lighter hair and darker eyes. What had made her quite unattractive was her meekness. Since Salazar's romance with that strong, proud, and witty woman who was his Rowena, he realized too late that he valued someone thus spirited. Rowena could fend him off in the lightest of quarrels.

Emma, on the other hand, would flinch whenever he bothered to—granted the privilege even—look at her. Granted, he didn't give her smoldering gazes of passion nor amused expressions, but that was beside the point. That bloody woman he idiotically chose to be his wife rarely spoke in discourse! It hadn't surprised him when, partially due to her submissive nature and partially due to genes ill in quality, she had passed away giving birth to his heir Joseph. Honestly, Salazar felt overwhelming relief when she died, for at least it wouldn't irk him to attempt conversing with her. And he would have had much rather not remark on the irony that she died like his mother. Emma and Penelope weren't remotely in the same league.

However, unlike his father, Salazar raised his son..._decently_. As far as he was concerned, decent was what a Slytherin could be called at best. He offered fatherly guidance when he deemed it proper and then would leave Joseph alone for the rest of the time. He loved him to some degree, but after adoring and admiring Rowena, love could never again carry the same connotation for him. Joseph, thank Merlin, was made of stronger stuff than his weak mother and mutely departed from their home at sixteen to never return again. He had inherited many traits from his father, the roving spirit and potions brewing skill among them as well as physical appearance. Before Joseph left (for at least he explained that it wasn't out of rebellion), Salazar passed down the locket to him. It didn't have Rowena's locks of hair inside, so it would continue to serve as an heirloom rather than a sentimental possession.

Currently, Salazar seated himself at his writing desk and soon used _Accio _to fetch a piece of parchment, a container of ink, and a quill. Aware that he had to make haste, he thought over what to write very briefly. Since he could be liberated, more like himself around her, he scrawled out the words that needed to be written. They came from the passionate depths of his soul, to show to Rowena that he loved her all these years. He never stopped. Revealing more secrets than he would normally care to lay bare, he let her know what went through his mind and heart. She had to realize that she had almost become acquainted with his true self but not quite. Now, she would.

Exhausted after such heart pouring, he tied the letter to the leg of his jet-black owl.

Staring out the window, he whispered, "Please read it, Rowena. Please."

* * *

This had been a physical trial at its worst. For, Rowena hardly imagined something as simple as breathing to ever become so laborious. Inhaling and exhaling took so much out of her, and she despised herself for once taking it for granted. No one should ever have to experience this much anguish just to die. Her graying hair spread out on her pillow that didn't feel soft enough, and, upon looking in a mirror, she felt that her beauty had drained away. All she wanted for herself now was to die, to get this insufferable, deplorable pain out of the way. And she wished to die alone, for she was resigned to the knowledge that this would happen. Her traitorous daughter had refused to return.

"Lady Ravenclaw," a servant called softly, though she didn't even turn her head at the sound. "A letter has arrived for you...through an _owl_, no less."

"I care not to peruse a letter in my final hours. Take it away," she piteously moaned.

In spite of her pleading, the servant held out the sealed parchment toward her. "It is a green seal with a serpent on it, if that will be familiar to you."

The dead blue-gray eyes of hers subtly brightened. "That would be familiar to me. Thank you."

So, Salazar had written her? Could this be too good to be true? She had assumed that he had sworn off all communication with her in the hopes of improving her life. Perhaps reading his letter (if it was indeed his) would cause her to feel less lonely. After these long weeks, she sensed that something terrible had befallen Helena, so that she would die alone for certain. She hoped that whatever Salazar had to say, it would bring her some solace.

_My dearest Rowena,_

_I have just awoken from a most frightful, worrisome dream that drenched me in a cold perspiration. If my instincts are correct, you are near death as I write. Apparently, my Legillimens ability can travel across a far distance. I am almost grateful for this vision of mine, for I can finally write the words that have remained unsaid for such an extensive time. It breaks my heart to learn that you will pass on without me holding you in my arms. Though your illness would take a toll on your beauty, you are nonetheless still beautiful to me. Forever, you will be thus to me. I cannot know for the life of me where to begin, and time is of the essence._

_I shall begin by relating to you what I have been up to in these past twenty years, one of which I have spent wandering. I admit that I was enraged for a while for a variety of reasons. I suppose, in reflection, I was pained that I ruined our chances of living a blissful life together. Forgive me for bringing up such old wounds, but I am to blame for whatever injury I have done you. I love you too deeply to inflict pain on you purposely. My thoughts are a muddle. As I was prepared to confess, I married a woman of pure magical birth on a whim. She resembled you in outward appearance, so I must have vainly hoped she would carry the semblance of you in other traits._

_Alas, she failed to succeed in igniting neither any sort of passion on my part nor any desire to be devoted to her. The one reason alone that I wed her was to produce an heir, which did occur through a succession of bluntly uninspiring nights. My long since dead wife had unwittingly caused me to wholly realize an inevitable truth._

_You, of plentiful comeliness and impeccable wit, are my equal. You are everything to me that which no other woman could possibly be. You captured my heart long ago and never returned it to me. Most of all, your soul spoke to me in a way that no one before or since has reached me. Oh, Rowena, if you had any inclination to believe that there truly was no one else! There was not, I will attest to that. This is why it is so difficult to write, for I know you will be gone forevermore soon._

_I wonder if you had indeed found a worthy man to take my place, for Merlin knows how unfit I was. I sincerely hope you did, for though my envy toward the fellow in question would have been immense, your happiness is on a higher pedestal than mine. It has always been so. As for what also happened with you right when I left the school, I shall not speak of it. You must be confused as to why I neglect to acknowledge it, but it is a most delicate matter. To divulge my awareness would be to shock you and therefore expedite your death. I cannot do this, for I have done enough to you in one lifetime. However, you require a deeper insight as to why exactly I abandoned Hogwarts to its fate, more so than the others. My detestation of the Muggle race stemmed from my childhood, of which you know quite little. There is an explanation I will provide for that._

_My childhood, as you heard implied from the few occasions I did allude to it, was a wretched one steeped in bitterness and hatred. One night, out of an innocent curiosity mingled with the intense yearning to run away, I visited a Muggle village. There, I was beaten by these boys until I could barely stand. Ill-fatedly, I have allowed this moment to reign over my bigotry toward all Muggles. I was hasty in thought, yet I can never learn to trust them. I apologize for living in the past in that respect, since that in turn affected my relationship with you, unexpectedly I might add. In these final thoughts, I shall now put you at ease, fervently praying that you will die comfortably without agony._

_Recently, I have taken to sleeping under the stars instead of inside my home, thinking of you. I have always thought of you, no matter where I am or what I am preoccupied with. In my dreams, I see us as reunited, embracing each other as we kiss. For, what I shared with you was not passing fancy to me in my youth, you must know first and foremost. What we had was as genuine as two people in the purest love can achieve. Oh, Rowena, my dear, my darling, my love, and my heart that encompasses the vast expanse of universe...You shall and will continue to be the only one I will ever be devoted to. If we had remained together, this would have been so as well. But, since it was fated that we became separated, I keep you in my heart and in my memories. For, how could you ever fade from either?_

_Once, long ago, I read journal passages from my deceased mother. I was startled to discover that her spirit seemingly manifested within you, as this kind, intelligent, and spirited soul. Then again, every woman should be similar to what my mother must have been in life, for the world would be such an ideal place, Paradise personified. And you. More people should be like you, lovely Rowena. In closing, I tell you what you have heard many times before in differing yet like tones. I love you. Hold this parchment in your hand and pretend that I am with you. Visualize me by your side, holding you, kissing you, and whispering intimate words into your ear. Be comforted that I am with you in spirit._

_Now, close your eyes, sweetest one. Assure me that I have offered some comfort to you in these saddest of times. For, my love, I do not wish for you to fret too grievously. Farewell._

_Unquestionably yours,_

_Salazar_

Tears streamed down Rowena's face, but these were joyous, contented ones shed rather than mournful. For, Salazar had indeed proven his faithfulness right until the moment that her death should approach. Despite some disheartening things he revealed about himself, he still eased her anguish and hurt. It also touched her that he had given all of his soul to her. Why, she would have traded everything in her possession to glimpse his face one last time. Though, of course, he could not be physically there, sitting on her bed while gazing compassionately at her. These words were enough.

Yes, it was as Rowena predicted, he had made her feel a great deal less lonesome. If anything, he had set her free from her own troubles that burdened her. He, in essence, stayed with her long after Devon died and longer after Helena's heartbreaking desertion. Once she finished wiping at her eyes with trembling hands, Rowena kissed the parchment as gently as though it substituted Salazar's lips and settled back on her considerably softer pillow. And it was like he was really there...

The servant from previous found her at death's door the next morning. In her actual passing, she had whispered, "Salazar," in her final breath, smiled, and clutched his letter in her hand.

* * *

A light spring rain watered everything down on the day of Rowena Ravenclaw's funeral. It was not a melancholy shower but one that held a trace of longing nostalgia, though idyllic. It suited the recently deceased woman well. In order to keep the funeral relatively private, very few people attended. Her closest female friend Helga came as did Godric and her sister Lucrecia, who firmly pursed her lips so they wouldn't tremble. Her husband Richard stood by her side with one arm around her shoulders while Catherine and Rose shed silent tears for their departed aunt. All in all, it was a funeral filled with the most profound kind of sorrow, given that Rowena did not reach fifty years. However, even in death and her coffin underneath the deep earth, she was surrounded by adoration.

Family members (what few of them remained) paid their respects by speaking affectionate words along with the two co-founders of the school. For, the event of Salazar's betrayal had bound the friendship among them more tightly. Nothing would have fragmented that apart for the world. After each of them had placed flowers on her grave comprised of a simple wooden cross underneath a willow tree, the mourners exchanged embraces and soon separated for their carriages. A shadow from a nearby tree materialized to a lone personage emerging from behind it. With a shaky sigh, he almost staggered toward Rowena's resting place, a nosegay of violets in hand.

Salazar could not have lived with himself if he had gone without a final farewell to the indisputable love of his life. Even though his life would be less the same after this, he would at least be satisfied that he had done this. Violets had always been Rowena's flower of choice and no wonder. Along with her eyes nearly resembling them and her preference for purple clothing, the flowers represented purity, innocence, and faithfulness. And that was the type of woman she had always been. Collapsing near the freshly earth-filled grave, Salazar dropped the violets, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. His fingers clenched on the soft dirt.

His final words toward her: "No matter how far we are now, know that I am yours forever."

He kissed the cross as droplets of water clung to the violets, both rain...and tears.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I decided to have Salazar cry again and figured it could be fitting here. Just rely on the fact that he has a keen Legillimens ability much like Voldemort for the reason he was able to show up to Rowena's funeral. Which, by the way, I swear feels like the most wuthering of a "Wuthering Heights" moment to me. Just so much tragedy. And I admit writing the end part of his letter made me nearly want to cry.**

**K, in my view, the only objection I have to this chapter is if I made Helena rebellious enough. If why she ran away was a good enough reason. I just didn't want to make her out to be some whiny teenager. And yeah, I know I didn't explain the Baron very well, but I wanted to focus more on Rowena and the fact that she was dying.**

**Emma was a shout-out to the reviewers who compared this to Jane Austen books, though you will see Salazar's wife was neither like Emma Woodhouse nor Rowena Ravenclaw. If anything, this was my villanous plot to kill off Mary Sues. Aren't I evil? And at first, I hated the fact I had to settle on Joseph for his son's name. But, then, later, I grew to like it and figured it suited him.**

**I could go on all day about aspects of this chapter, but I think I've pretty much covered all I wanted to cover. Please kindly review. So kindly. XD**


	28. Unburdened

**A/N: WOOT, SPRING BREAK, YEAAAAH! XD Sorry, had to get that out of my system. I'm on spring break now, obviously. And today, you're all treated to...the last chapter of this story. Yep, I'm done with it. Unfortunately, I feel like the ending cliche somewhat, but I couldn't think of anything else to put. I blame this on the 90's movie version of "Wuthering Heights" for this one. Yep, 90's, not classic 1930's version. I tend to like different versions of stuff than other people. But, yeah, enjoy the ending. I feel like the writing could have been better, personally, but I'm a perfectionist.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 28: Unburdened**

A life alone as well as a life without her in it. This was the manner in which Salazar lived out his not-so-golden years as his hair turned grayer and the deep wrinkles on his face became more prominent. He was shocked that he had managed to outlive his father by quite a few years despite being indifferent to death. After Rowena, he swore to himself that he no longer feared it and why should he? Surrounded by valuable treasures and residing in the roomiest of castles, he felt that he lost everything. As he always emphasized to her, she _was _everything, the biggest part of his life. Yet, her life extinguished like a candle flame. He lived out his life sitting and reading, aging as he waited for death's cool embrace.

Once a hint of illness (most likely consumption, he concluded) touched him at age one and sixty, he sent a letter by owl to his son. What Joseph would inherit was to be discussed among other topics that could randomly weave into that conversation. What these topics were to be, Salazar could have never guessed, for it wasn't as though Legillimency predicted the future. Thus, the two men sat by the hearth one autumn evening, sipping cups of tea and speaking of the son's inheritance. However, Joseph stared almost concernedly at his father after a nagging cough.

"What is it?" Salazar gruffly inquired. "Have you not seen a man cough before?"

There was a guarded sharpness in his eyes that the younger Slytherin found that he was ill at ease with. He ran a hand through his dark brown, nearly black hair and took another sip of tea.

"Yes," Joseph finally spoke at length, requiring the soothing liquid as something to mull over. "But, Father, it seems to me that you are welcome to dying. Otherwise, why would we discuss the land I shall acquire? Or that I shall inherit Violethall?"

For, yes, Salazar himself had named the castle after her wonderful, lovely wildflowers that she would pick in the summer and put in vases. Every little bit of nature-made color that she could find would end up in Hogwarts' interior.

He sighed, though eyed Joseph grudgingly. "Joseph, why care to tell me this? All old men welcome death."

Clearly ready to test him, his son shook his head quite fervently. "But, they do not embrace it as wholly as you, Father. What would it be that has troubled you?"

Those analytical midnight blue eyes of his scanned Salazar's own, for the elderly man shifted under such vision. Throughout these many years that had seamlessly lapsed into each other, the two of them rarely shared what would be considered heart-to-heart talks. It was most unlike men, especially Slytherins, to divulge their _feelings_.

However, in this instance, Salazar's patience ebbed once he noticed Joseph's eyes take on a glow of pity. Something seized him then.

"It is her!" he bellowed, on the verge of hurling the tea kettle. "I long to join _her_!"

Joseph's eyebrows perked up out of sheer puzzlement, stunned that his father could possibly speak of...well, the woman he believed him to refer to.

"Mother?"

Even murmuring that left Joseph a skeptic, for he was no fool, able to observe that there seemed to be a certain contempt Salazar held toward his former wife.

Currently, his father snorted. "No, boy, not her. There was another before her, one who is irreplaceable both in my mind and heart."

His voice had softened at that point, astounding his son even further.

Nonetheless, it was no longer in doubt that he also held some degree of affection toward the man who raised him, for he implored sympathetically, "Tell me about her."

Since the boy was lucky enough to be of the same blood, Salazar half-disdainfully, half-dotingly thought, he would be the worthy one to hear the story of an old man's heart. He proceeded to relate of the tale of him and Rowena Ravenclaw, recalling as much as possible (and, even as an old, dying man, his memory still held up) on their most joyous moments as well as the most heart-wrenching. Their tea was abandoned and soon became lukewarm, though Salazar continued to give his recollections and Joseph with listening. It was to be the closest to them bonding.

As well as that father-son interaction, it marked the first and last time Salazar ever spoke of Rowena this candidly.

The next morning, once bidding his father a fond farewell and sincere wishes for him to recover soon, Joseph rode off on his ivory colored steed. A very slight, wry smile appeared on Salazar's lips while watching the horse disappear into the horizon. Joseph reminded him of a younger yet infinitely better version of himself, what with the rejection of luxurious things such as a carriage for simpler things like a horse. And yet, Joseph possessed the temperament of someone well-bred and quite cared for during his childhood. Salazar envied this, though the alternative would have been turning the boy wretched. Despite the unknown chamber with that ugly basilisk at Hogwarts, he wasn't as heartless as to torture his own flesh and blood. Still...his son had been so well-endowed in his life.

His health took a drastic turn for the worse in the following days after this brief contemplation. Perhaps this was because it caused him to realize just how much he longed for death instead of mere indifference. Indeed, Salazar's cough seemed to seize him each time, taking control to make him suffer from an aching chest among other ills. He felt exceedingly old, as ancient as Merlin himself had been when he died. He cared not and continued to pore over his books that he had obtained over the years to add to Violethall's extensive collection. Every word he read would whisk him away from his frightfully lonely castle and leave him to forget, at least for a little while, his situation.

But, as he would have had to eventually settle for as someone who was dying by the day, Salazar was placed under bed rest by his servants. Oh, how he had initially protested! Then, he knew with a resigned air that this was what had to happen in order for him to transition from this life to the next. Besides, there truly was nothing he could do now, considering that discussion with his son. He faced the fact that he had been setting affairs in order to prepare for this. His rheumy, watery eyes looking toward that one small circular window for answers, he was only assured that he could reunite with Rowena soon. Hopefully, nothing would prevent such a reunion from taking place. As long as that one sin of his didn't place him in damnation and the scorching fires of Hell, he would be tranquil.

Thus, Salazar lay in his bed as the coughs and the chills and the aches plagued him and ravaged his body, perpetually waiting for the end to draw near. That one finale before the curtain fell on him forever, never to rise again. Those fools of servants summoned physicians who tried to cure him with those infernal, vampire-like worms they called leeches. Salazar found it sickeningly comical that they would attempt to rescue him from the abyss of death. He did not deserve mercy for his past wrongs, especially being saved from what was meant to occur. Besides, if the potions he used to brew couldn't cure consumption, then these parasites no better and no more purposeful than flobberworms couldn't either.

And nonetheless, the servants and the physicians should be aware to let an old man have his peace. One late afternoon, Salazar sensed that his death was impending, just minutes away, he assumed. He thought of that miniature hourglass he kept in a certain dungeon classroom that he would constantly eye, each grain of sand falling to the bottom. The sand as of present represented his draining life. Judging by his laborious breathing, it would be gone shortly, and he eagerly wished for it more than anything. Though once he feared death as a presence that took away those he loved, he would meet it head-on now.

Was this what his father felt in his final hours? Relief that he would see his Penelope again?

For, it was the same with Salazar, very much the same morbid yet fervidly optimistic feeling that bubbled in his chest. All of his anguish these twelve years following Rowena's death would come to pass away as he breathed his last. What would she look like once he did encounter her? Would she be clothed in white and smile lovingly at him? Then again, he supposed it didn't have to be white. Actually, if it wasn't too much to ask, he preferred her in the colors she liked, violets and blues and even greens. Oh, such nonsense he was thinking, but it was logical coming from a senile mind. As he drew another painful breath, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed after staring too long at a stream of sunlight pouring from his window. For once, light hurt his vision. If only for the dark to come...

"Salazar."

A voice echoed from a mysterious point of origin, a gentle tone that sounded uncannily familiar. But, how could it be her? Salazar kept breathing, placing a hand over his weakly palpitating heart to ensure that this was so. Why ever would...?

He barely, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. "I am dreaming, hallucinating."

The feminine voice laughed. "No, Salazar, it is I. I'm Rowena."

"I feel you. I feel your presence," he whispered, believing her as soon as she told her identity to him. "Yet, I cannot see you."

Unbeknownst to him, Rowena as an apparition floated rather than stood by his bedside, wearing her favored violet dress. Her hair was loose and without the diadem perched atop her head.

She smiled sadly upon the inevitable fact that she was indeed invisible to him for the time being. Of course Salazar wouldn't see her. He was alive (though by a thread), and she was dead. A boundary had situated itself firmly between them, as much as she was loathe to admit it. This didn't stop her from situating her ghostly form comfortably on his bed, so that she was next to him.

"But, you do hear me, I presume?"

Salazar's aged eyes lit up. "Aye, I do. Tis been long since I have heard your pretty voice. I missed it so."

A desire to touch him as she once did when alive overcame Rowena to the point that it tingled throughout her whole being. In one way, it would serve as a gesture of comfort toward him, for he looked quite frail. His hair and beard were both long and white with age as well as the toll it had taken on him. So, she moved her hand toward his hair...and it passed through it. She could not feel a thing, she realized, her face falling in disappointment.

Ashamed, she murmured, "I cannot touch you just as you can neither touch nor see me. What reunion is this?"

"Do not fret, Rowena. We hear each other as we always have, do we not?"—she acknowledged this with a "yes"—"Then be at ease. We are together again. By the by...why have you returned?"

Looking emphatically at Salazar, Rowena noted that her love had gone through so much, nearly as much as she had before her passing. And he was alone as well.

"As a spirit who is intimately connected with you, I sensed that death would soon claim you. I came to be of solace and to be your guide to the realm of the afterlife. Magic does not stop for death, Salazar, despite the fact that magic cannot reverse the effects," she explained gently, though was concerned when she heard him cough severely. She swore that she even spotted drops of blood splatter his coverlet. Appearing to sense her anxiety over him, he dryly smiled while collapsing back onto his bed.

"Charming, is it not?" he self-deprecatingly joked. "I have been reduced to do the leeches' work."

Oh, Salazar, Rowena thought while shaking her head, why must you joke about things like that? Regardless of the inability, she touched his wrinkled, wizened face without feeling the skin or bones beneath. Twas all extremely odd.

Whispering in his ear, she lightly admonished, "My dear, what am I to do with you? You distort serious matters into ones of amusement. You always did have a strange sense of humor, darling, and I am still taken aback by it."

"I am full of surprises." He smirked with that sly Slytherin smirk that was never out of place on his face, no matter the rhyme or reason.

The expression then turned pensive and grave due to the remembrance of what he wrote in his first and last letter to her. He hadn't dared to be specific regarding what he referred to, for he disliked having to startle her. The moment before his death was as good a time as any.

Raking a hand through his white hair, he confessed, "I knew about our child."

Rowena's blue-gray eyes widened in shock. "For...how long? I cannot believe...When ever did you discover that I had been with child?"

"Shortly before I left Hogwarts whilst you peacefully slept. It was the delicate matter I did not address in detail in my letter to you for fear that you would die more quickly."

She could not resist stuttering. "I—I thought y—you would be enraged by that."

Another cough seized him before he elaborated, "I was for a time but not initially. That child was a product of our love, and I was glad. And yet, I could not stay. You know why."

Rowena rested her hand on his chest, where his heartbeats lessened by the minute. "I was an unfit mother, Sal. Helena ended up betraying me and stealing the diadem, for she seemed to think thoughts along those lines. It was not until later, when I died that...I learned that that bloody wretched baron I summoned murdered her! He was enamored yet sinfully obsessed with her."

Trying to hold back her tears, she clutched yet bizarrely not clutched at Salazar's silk nightshirt to anchor herself. She could not weep such weak tears. And yet, he soothingly hushed her to placate the frayed nerves and the immeasurable guilt.

His voice weakening, he told her lowly, "Our daughter...must have inherited...that blasted Slytherin ruthlessness...infamous in my line. But...you are not to blame...my love. Did my letter...not help you?"

Rowena glanced at his troubled face and kissed his forehead. "It did...so much."

Tilting his head toward where he guessed she was, he whispered, "Then...now, you are alleviating me of my sorrows, of my pain...It is a most...beautiful thing."

Salazar's entrancing green-gray eyes grew tender and affectionate, his face brightening, and for a moment, his younger self emerged. He was extraordinarily perfect to her.

A pang struck her as he reverted back to his current self, the dying self that would fade from existence. In spite of her anticipation of this moment, Rowena hated to witness him in agony from his illness, to see him suffer in any way. Pride took hold of her then, pride for what bravery he showed in these lingering minutes.

She swore she really touched his hair this time as she warmly remarked, "You look captivating, even now. It is more than I could have said for myself. I must have looked quite a fright before I died."

"Implying that you were far lovelier than ever...," he trailed off before adding, "I wish...more than anything, my beloved, I wish...I could...kiss you..."

He faded and more rapidly. No wonder she could stroke his hair.

Though he was under immense physical torture and that it was a struggle for every single breath of air, Salazar smiled softly, relieved that it would be all over. His smile widened when he glimpsed Rowena now. She lay beside him yet not quite touching the bed...No, if anything, she floated above him somewhat, an angel in ethereal form. She looked the age she was at the time they founded the school. Heavy weights fell as though they pulled his eyelids closed with that one final assessment of her. He felt content.

Barely breathing, he breathed out, "Rowena..."

And thus, he was no more on this earth as his heart gave out at last. However, a separation of soul and body took place, and he discovered his spirit floating outside the castle.

Hesitantly, Rowena joined him, her eyes never leaving his. She was unsure about how to react, taking into account that she witnessed the love of her life die. Clearly, he would move on with her, and together, they would become two phantoms traveling wherever the wind took them. Or so she romantically thought, she admitted.

"Come here," Salazar murmured, gesturing with his hands which...appeared _young_. Out of curiosity, he fingered a strand of his hair—raven black, as it had been. This...this genuinely was the magic Rowena had spoken of. Inwardly, he rejoiced.

"I...I am young again," he told her reverently, rushing over toward her.

Laughing freely and blissfully, Rowena embraced him in the hopes that she would feel him in her arms and her in his. They made contact.

Salazar's face broke into a grin. "And I can touch you as well! Do you realize what this means?"

"We shall never be apart ever again, eternally in the afterlife's realm," she told him confidently, knowing that this was what they deserved after too many years apart.

"Indeed we will." He pressed his forehead against hers. "I love you, my beautiful, intelligent, sweet Rowena."

She caressed his face. "And I love you my clever, kind, perfect Salazar."

In a moment of pure euphoria, their eyes remained locked on each other as their heads were swarmed by half-disbelieving, half-exhilarated thoughts.

For one, both speculated that what had happened in the past few minutes would turn out to be a fantastical dream. They fleetingly pondered over the possibility of no afterlife whatsoever. But, then, their hearts filled with such joy that this _was _real and that they could still be able to kiss each other.

Without much further contemplating, Salazar brought his lips down on Rowena's, kissing her with as much passion as he ever felt for her. There was no way he would release her again. She returned those same sentiments through her enthusiastic response as she wound her hands through the tangles of his dark hair.

"Everything is as it should be," she whispered, giving him a lasting kiss on his lips.

Truer words were never spoken as far as he was concerned. All these years, he had always adored her. In this next phase, he would continue to do so, for nothing horrible could happen again to disrupt the harmony they shared.

Salazar smiled heartily, touching her cheek. "I could not imagine anything more ideal."

Their embrace then breaking, Rowena held out a hand to him. "Are you coming?"

"I will follow you to wherever our destination is, Rowena."

As he took her hand, the two lovers gazed at each other quite tenderly, endearingly. It was as though they read each other's minds to ensure that this was what they both desired. And then, they floated upwards toward this enigmatic realm, to become part of the stars. Forever.

**The End**

**

* * *

**

**A/N: And yeah, I normally hate putting "the end" after a story, but in this case with this one, it felt right. First of all, it's (lemme check here) a whopping 343 pages long on Word, my biggest fic to date. Dang, I can't believe it got that big, but it did. Second of all, I felt attached in writing something as emotional as this. Then again, all my fics seem to have a certain range of emotion, so maybe it's not so surprising. I enjoyed working on this just as I hoped you guys enjoyed reading this.**

**Comments...Hm, well, that one line I wrote about Salazar telling secrets "from an old man's heart"...That was frickin' Titanic. Yep, guys, Titanic, never thought I'd say that. Or maybe I did. I don't know. And somehow...I just hate ending stories with just a death and then nothing. I mean, heck, originally the story was going to end right at Rowena's funeral. But, that just didn't seem right to me. **

**So, anyway, special thanks especially goes out to Electra de Lioncourt and Violet Saphira Darling (sorry for any butchering of pennames) for reviewing a lot and Update for putting this as a recommendation on the on livejournal. And all of you reviewers and readers out there, thanks so much. I never expected this story to have so many hits for a Salazar/Rowena or so many reviews. Thanks, all you guys, so much! I mean it. XD**


End file.
